December 1st – #reverb11

December 1st – #reverb11

Last year I participated in Reverb10, a series of blog posts that arose from daily email prompts from a lovely lady named Gwen Bell.

It was a wonderful chance to connect with other writers, and I learnt lots about my own writing and my own thought processes as I neared the end of a tumultuous year.

 

So Im doing it again :)

Prompt #1: One Word
Encapsulate the year 2011 in one word. Explain why you’re choosing that word. Now, imagine it’s one year from today, what would you like the word to be that captures 2012 for you?

So I had to go back to my first prompt from last year to find out what my word was for 2011. Rereading that was a total flashback to a whole nother life and Im amazed at the clarity with which I wrote of the ups and downs.

I tried to live with PASSION this year. I learnt to play by the rules that I alone was creating for myself, and that was motivating. However, my word for 2011 is not Passion, it is

GROWTH

This year Ive grown infinitely since stepping out from beneath the umbrella that was a corporate life. That in itself has had repercussions for the rest of my life. As I returned to university as a full time student, I realised I had lost the desire to study Interior Design at this point in my life. I wanted to do something I was inspired to sit down and learn about every day, without losing the new found freedom I suddenly prized so highly. I switched courses, and started studying an Adv Dip in Nutritional Medicine and OH its so interesting! And now I write about my studies, my love of food, and my passion for sharing my knowledge.

Jimmy & I broke up for several months and that was perhaps the biggest period of growth that I went through. Learning to come to terms with the what and the why. I soul searched and moved on in leaps and bounds, only to find that the love was never gone and we’ve been back together for 6 months now.

I moved out of my share house and into an apartment of my very own. Jim still doesnt live with me as he is in the process of buying a house, and I will move in with him when that happens. But until then I am revelling in this incredible freedom that comes with having total ownership of ones space.

I havent had a “real job” for almost a year now and its fucking fantastic. I model almost full time these days, signed with an agency, and fill my spare evenings with a little bar work or hostess work to make sure rent goes in on time ;) Ive had to learn to budget ahead, do my own taxes and invoicing, arrange client meetings, promote & market myself, and network my ass off. And thats SO much better than 10 hours in front of a desk.

I dont wake up before 10, I study in coffee shops, go for picnics with Jimmy at lunch time, bake my own bread, shop at the markets, clean my house at midnight, try new recipes, op shop on the ‘quiet days’, and write. Special moments with those I love, or doing the things I love, have become so valuable to me, more so than any hefty pay cheque as a Workplace Consultant.

All the things I dreamt of doing this time last year. And to be able to do that has done wonders for my outlook on life. Reading my first prompt from last year, I realised how black and white I had built my life to be. There was very little room for aspirational dreaming. Now that I have the time, I have the capacity to dream. I dont poo-poo motivational quotes anymore, I am more inclined to have a thought, and follow it up with “Yeah, I can TOTALLY do that!”. I am very good at, and proud of, what I do, and Im confident, that I can do even more. My measure of success, the thing by which I measure how great Ive become, is no longer built out of external factors…. every measure comes from within.

“How much money did I make this month? Who cares… am I happy? yes. Well, there ya go.”

Everything I do now, is because I WANT to. No joke. I dont have to answer to anybody if I dont want to – how lucky am I !?!?!

Bearing that in mind, I want my word for 2012 to be

INSPIRED

I want to live every action as if I was inspired to do it. Like Ive got some invisible sidekick cheering me from the sidelines. Ive learnt this year that its ok to dream the things that YOU want to dream so, in 2012, I am going to be inspired to make it happen!

 

Just like a battery

Just like a battery

Just like a battery, every negative has a positive. With bad comes good. With dark comes light….. and so on

Jim has been gone for 3 weeks now. It has been the best thing that WE have ever done. I shocked myself when I came to that realisation, but also thought with great pride, how mature and respectful and considerate we have both been.

Im in a pleasantly strange place now. A positive place. A place that has a surprising amount of joy given the situation. Ive achieved a lot and maybe that’s it. I cleaned out the study, rearranged my room, advertised for a housemate, booked interviews and found one, threw out paperwork, started my new course, Ive been baking and going to the gym, Ive been on shoots and parades, and my new agency has sent me to a bunch of castings. I got a new job yesterday, after only needing to apply for 2, and then one 10 min interview and BAM! I grinned all the way home. I stopped in to see Donovan at the coffeeshop and hung out for ages. We laughed our arses off and I tried his amazing new chai. I got home to Nicole and we simultaneously cleaned our rooms dancing around to Britney Spears (dont judge me! haha). Life has been this insane flurry of activity and positive energy with more spark than the last 3 months that led to Jimmy moving out.

I called mum and told her I didn’t need her to come over. Mum asked me if I was sure… I was certain. I am ok. I am MORE than ok. I thought I would bury myself in a terrible hole in the ground but I didn’t. I think I allowed myself the opportunity to thrash it all out on the road to, and in, Sydney. I drank and smoked, cried, and obsessed, and analysed and sat stunned in disbelief. By the time I got back to Melbourne I knew I had a job to do. It was MY life I had to act on. Not his. Ive moved on from the sorrow, it really does get you nowhere.

Mum and Jill came over anyway, as a surprise.  <3

Whats done is done. Im not wishing anymore, Im not regretting things Ive done or said. If I could change them I would, but thinking about the past inhibits my ability to change the future. And I think that’s a fundamental shift in my outlook. I am proud of what we are achieving now, separately.  It should be something to be proud of, that we can be adults, have a mature conversation, and work through this together.

The best thing you can do in life, is to live well. You cannot change others, but you most certainly can better yourself

On Sunday Jimmy and I went for dinner. And then to a bar for drinks. There were tears, and lots of laughter. There were long and solemn chats about life and the things we wanted for our future. He gripped my hand tightly all night, his arm around my waist as we walked down the street. We were giddy and nervous like a first date. And in the end, he stayed the night. Ive been floating on a happy cloud ever since. We’re a long way from ‘fixed’, but the love is there and stronger than ever. And with everything in the open, with all said and our honest thoughts on the table, we really can only go up from here.

Time will reveal everything in its infinite wisdom. I realise that there is a fair and full price that must be paid for anything worthwhile.. I am here for when he calls, but life will not go on hold in waiting for that moment. Jims choice was made so that we could be absolutely everything we are capable of being, so thats exactly what I intend to do. I am going to continue on this incredible trajectory that I have carved in a mere two weeks. I am still amazed that I am NOT sad, grieving, buried in a hole and despondent. Jimmy sees this in me too and his smile is wide. We’ll have our time, he wont move back in and thats for the best. But we will continue to be awesome, be our best, and work towards our future together.

I am finished with interior design for the time being. I wrapped up at uni, and have decided not to go back to the architecture firm. There are other passions, other feathers I want to put in my cap, and I want to pursue them. This time its officially called ‘Nutritional Medicine’ and when its finished I will be a qualified Nutritionist  :) Im excited about this course, partly because it puts into qualification the things I already know and do, and the advice I give others, but because the things I will learn can be immediately applied to my life as I live it. I wonder if I could ever combine the two qualifications… but who knows!? :)

Autumn Equals Death (and other positive observations)

Autumn Equals Death (and other positive observations)

The Black Sheep Returns

Last night I walked into the house at 12.30 in the morning. I was crying before the key had even left the lock. As the door swung open, the place where all your shoes and boots once overflowed, was home to a singular pair of thongs. Mine.

4 days in Sydney and 3 days driving the road to get there had done nothing to dull the pain. Only delayed the inevitable.The roadtrip and Sydney had gone as far to occupy my time provided I remained busy, drunk, or stoned (or interestingly, all three) and hungover.

I paced the house till an ungodly hour, painfully noting that your linen was gone, the pantry was devoid of all your crazy training supplements, the bathroom had no indication that a man ever occupied that domain. Half the drawers were empty and coathangers hung naked by the glow of the street lamp. The spare mattress and desktop computer, the wine collection, pictures from the walls. Books. Suitcases. Gone. Each discovery slamming into my chest like another nail in the coffin. I eventually cried myself to sleep only to wake up every few hours dreaming of you, reliving the ‘talk’ that ended with me in Sydney. Renegotiating everything in my mind. Fighting for us again in dreamland. Losing again in dreamland. Moisture on the pillow smacking me into reality with every turn of my head. Dawn brought a state of catatonia, counting for the umpteenth time, the number of triangles in the ceiling and obsessively tugging the tears from my cheeks until they were raw.

In the bathroom I vomited absolutely nothing with the ferocity of 10 hangovers.

I rose finally after 1pm, and in the street the tears ran silently. My local Barista took one look at me and probed the question… Jimmy? My voice cracked without an intelligible answer and he handed over my large cappuccino, declining any payment.

I left  my sunglasses on in the supermarket, the hub of the area. Partly because I couldnt control the fucking Viennese channels, but also because everywhere I turned I saw someone who might ask me how I was. My friends, Jims friends. My fucking luck. A simple trip to the supermarket became a dodgem cars trip, narrowly bouncing off the aisles to avoid catastrophe. I stopped at the bottleshop for some soothing red, and heard my name. Fuck.

Brad walked up to me. We stood like two strangers, an invisible wall between us that for this example, I’ll call, Jim. Jim stood there between us as two friends, evidently I was a criminal. Brad picked a wine I might like, and the awkward cloud grew thicker. Silence. Nod, turned on my heel and walked away. As I walked towards the checkout I passed a display of Jims wines and by the time the girl asked me how I would like to pay the tears had started to run. By the time I walked out of the sensor doors, I was sobbing and making that particularly unattractive noise that people who are trying NOT to cry, make. I was choking. With two arms full of shopping I couldnt even wipe the snot from my nose. I dont know why I chose Dan Murphys, I should have gone to the other bottle shop. I dont know what I wanted, maybe an acknowledgment that I was hurting as much as Jim was.

Home from the shops, I stood at our second storey window and stared at the piles of leaves clogging the pavement. Before I left for Sydney, before all of this, I woke up each morning to see the colours changing on the Plane trees and wondered at how something that seems to be descending into darkness could look so beautiful. It was my favourite thing to stare out the window and watch the leaves falling as they faded to brown. I thought the whole process of hibernation for renewal was incredible to watch. This afternoon as I saw people navigate the dead leaves, I thought how sad and debilitated and messy the whole scene looked. Interesting how a change in situation can change our perception so drastically on something so ephemeral yet simple.

The Boase siblings are coming over for dinner. Part of the token list of activities post breakup that involves prolonged conversations with friends intended for distracting the break-ee. We agreed we wouldnt drink this time. However they arent here yet, and the bottle of wine intended for cooking went to better use. As did the vodka.

Somebody said some shit about time healing all. Maybe that was me. I believe it, but fuck I wish I could speed it up.

The Great Wall of No More

The Great Wall of No More

Shame. For the most part, thats what it is. Guilt, theres certainly a bit of that. Incredulation, yeah thats there too, amongst the chatter in my mind.

“Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results”

Ive hit a wall. The same wall I hit in every semester of uni, every project body of work, every exercise regime, every health kick, every budget/saving plan. At 26 years old, I still cant comprehend it. Part of me would like to think that its a safety valve; a shutdown mechanism to protect myself from excessive stress. A part of me also knows that it kicks in when its not necessary. Protecting me from what, exactly?

What is it? Its a freeze. A rigidity. A physical incapacity to DO anything. Its like an extremely debilitating procrastination, that finds me capable of living but not capable of ‘doing’. I can make dinner, clean up, go to the gym, and yet 15 minutes of mental focus is entirely out of the question.

To explain further. Picture this; You have an assignment due. Youve set aside the whole day to do it (because, of course, you havent even be able to start it until this point – for whatever pitiful excuse youve concocted). You sit down at 10am. 1 oclock comes and all youve managed to do  is; check Facebook 5 times. Eat breakfast. Eat a snack. And then lunch. Youve updated your twitter. Written a blog post. Checked your email. Made a cup of tea (even though its too hot for hot drinks). Painted your nails. And when youre actually dedicated to the task at hand, you get 15 minutes in and boom! Youre hand starts to shake, your knee starts to bounce. You get restless and fidgety. You cant read or draw because just the notion of looking at that page makes a silent scream swell inside you. You feel like that 15 minutes was an hour. So you get up, wander aimlessly around your cell the house, fix yourself another snack. Then sit down a little less flustered, and try again.

Before you know it, its 9pm. Youve eaten more than twice your normal caloric intake, and the assignment is not finished. In fact, youve barely made a dent on the upfront research required. And your levels of exhaustion are through the roof, desite how little youve done. And now its officially overdue. As 11pm nears, you get a surge of panic and the adrenalin kicks in. You manage to bash out a solid hour of work before resigning to your own failure and crashing out, intending to get up early and spend the whole next day doing it. One day late shouldnt hurt, right? You cancel all your plans, apologise to friends. And the vicious cycle starts again.

3 days later…. youre in tears because its still.not.done. Youre in tears because of the shame. The guilt. And the goddam incredulous nature of the whole debacle.

You panic. You dont turn up to the class in which it is due. And in extreme cases where youve been here before; youve withdrawn from the unit altogether. Nobody, especially you with your perfectionist nature, wants to face the music over this one. To tell your tutor that the reason you didnt do the work was simply because you ‘just cant‘? Thats nigh on impossible to fathom, let-alone do.

And heres the clincher; the work is neither hard,  nor boring. You are entirely capable of all of it, and you know, without a doubt, that if you actually did it, you would get top marks.

Thats my wall. My glorious non-collapsing epic Wall of China No More. It taunts me. Tortures me. Makes mountains from my delicate molehills and crushes my otherwise vibrant spirit. Im convinced it is the only thing standing in my way – the one thing between now and the person I know I can and deserve to be. Sometimes I think I know where or how to commandeer the wrecking ball of will that I need. Most of the time though, I have no idea.

#Reverb10 – No.13 – Ack-shun!

#Reverb10 – No.13 – Ack-shun!

December 13Action. When it comes to aspirations, it’s not about the ideas. It’s about making ideas happen. What’s your next step?

I have been cradling the notion of writing for a living. Or even a part-living. I visualise it as having the capacity to fulfil a number of my professional wants and needs; creativity, flexibility of time & hours, communicating and influencing, recognition, variety, and project based work… all the things that read down my checklist of an ideal career.

And while Ive been writing relentlessly, reading enthusiastically, taking courses, and building my folio, I am yet to take the critical action step of pitching for a client base. Thats A-Grade Fear. Right there. You can smell it.

My next action step is to cement my portfolio into the online realm. Where the clients are. Where it can be scrutinised. Judged. And ripped to shreds. Fuck.

But it could also be appreciated. Adored. Even respected?

Its got to be worth it.

I have the writing. I have the means and the skills and the desire. I just need to edit, categorise, and select my best examples of work. Deadline? February 1st.

Damn, it seems so close already.

And then?

Network like a madwoman, and market the absolute shit out of myself until they PAY me to shut up. *grin*

#Reverb10 – No. 12 – Body Integration

#Reverb10 – No. 12 – Body Integration

December 12Body Integration. This year, when did you feel the most integrated with your body? Did you have a moment where there wasn’t mind and body, but simply a cohesive YOU, alive and present?

Body and mind eh? Well my body and mind are ALWAYS in sync. Unfortunately.

 Do you remember that song from your childhood? The one about all your bones being connected?

 Ive always imagined that at the end of that song is goes something like “And all the bones are connected to your… stress-head!”

For as long as I can recall, illness… aches… groans… and injuries, have managed to manifest themselves from something psychological. Stress, anxiety, depression, nerves, and even excitement, all have repercussions for muscle fatigue, joint injury, sleeplessness, nausea, headaches and all that lovely stuff.

Tears give me headaches. Anxiety makes me nauseas. Stress makes me feel 80 years old. Nerves make it hard to breathe. Mental exhaustion usually hits me with the flu.

Late last year I tried meditating, to find a balance between the hoops my mind leaped, and the panting body trying to keep up. And I don’t mean just sitting down one day and crossing my legs and saying ‘lets go!’… I actually enrolled in a 4 week course of guided meditations. I failed miserably.

In the first week I had a blackout while sitting in my chair…. doowwwn I went.  In the second week I got motion sickness and the teacher had to lie me down and pull me out. In the 3rd week I didn’t do it properly but still felt ill. I gave up on meditating.

Ironically the most I have felt connected mentally and physically (in a positive fashion) in 2010 was when I was pushing my physical boundaries, and I forced my mind to shooosh. Whether it was hiking across the southern most point of the Australian Mainland, or learning Bikram Yoga, I was in a place where my heart and my head and my body were all in sync, working towards a singular goal. Since those instances, Ive become addicted, to both Bikram and hiking. Ive resolved myself to the fact that I will never be quietly introspective, only violently so. I will never be a ‘meditate-er’ in the traditional sense…. but my meditation is walking for 20 kilometres with a 15kg pack on my back, in the rain, in utter silence. My meditation comes from pulling an extreme stretch in a 40 degree room for 90 minutes, while balanced on one leg. The moments where my body meets my mind in one point and agrees with a handshake that they shall forget all else and tackle something together….this is my integration.

#Reverb10 – No.11 – 11 things to give up in 2011

#Reverb10 – No.11 – 11 things to give up in 2011

December 1111 Things. What are 11 things your life doesn’t need in 2011? How will you go about eliminating them? How will getting rid of these 11 things change your life?

11 Things to Give Up  a.k.a 11 things you simply don’t need Kaye

I don’t want these to feel like New Years Resolutions’ because they should be more like an evolving lifestyle change than a stagnant ‘resolution’. I also stopped before 11 because I didn’t want to scrounge for superficial things that I didn’t really care to get rid of. Maybe as I dig deeper for Reverb10 in the coming days, I’ll add some more.

  1. My job! Its a pretty huge thing and I talk about it in my Reverb10:Wisdom post. Technically I gave it up at the end of this year, but I’ll still be unemployed going into the new year  :)
  2. A spending habit. ~ Im not a big spender, Im a little multiple spender. My shoes cost $30, that skirt cost $20, those sunnies cost $15, that bling cost $5….but I buy ALOT of it. I don’t economise when Im food shopping either. It doesn’t matter that grapes are $20 a kilo… I want grapes dammit! Next year Im a uni bum… so I simply cannot afford to spend large amounts of money on superficial things. Spending will be calculated, required, important and checked. Im going to try the envelope thing; Take out a set amount of cash every week, and leave my cards at home. Now… to just navigate online shopping….!
  3. Chronic Procrastination. This is not an instant result… this may be something I tackle for the next 2 or 5 years. But procrastination (and its catalyst of perfectionism) has perhaps been the most debilitating thing for my progress in work and school, and it has seemed to get worse with every passing year. Not this year.
  4. Bedroom Floor Living; My apartment isn’t massive, and I share my room with Jim….. so living straight out of my clean washing basket, and leaving makeup on the bed, doesn’t equate to a happy couple. (Jim hates mess)
  5. My time, for a less me-centric life. Ive been working my ass off, trying to build the perfect life. Yet I have totally forgotten that my life is already awe-inspiring compared to those who have so much less. Sure I donate clothes to the Salvos, but whoop-de-doo. I want to do something giving with my newly found time next year, that involves my commitment to someone other than myself. Jimmy is keen on this too, and we’re thinking of being a Big Brother and Sister
  6. Unnecessary and unfounded guilt and/or anger. Im a bit like an elephant that way… its all stored up nicely in the back reaches of my memory… time to go digging
  7. Facebook. Ugh. I know… Im one of the most prolific users amongst my group of friends. I share the things I like, I rally people for causes, I rant, I update my status several times a day, and photograph/upload everything. If I had an excuse Id say it was also a business/networking portal for me too. But thats not much on an excuse. Dont get me wrong, Im not giving it up completely. Im just going to get rid of my need/dependence on it. To be online-all-the-time. To stop it being the first thing I do when I wake up, and the last thing I do at night. And make more phonecalls, have more coffees, and long lunches, and write letters.
  8. ……… and this really is as far as I got

That was harder than I thought. Its easier to find the things I do want than don’t want. Admitting the things I don’t want is like a shopping list of negative. In fact in a few of those in the list above came from flipping the things I DO want. From a psychology and coaching perspective Ive actually wondered if this prompt was a naughty thing to do?

#Reverb10 – No. 10 – Wisdom

#Reverb10 – No. 10 – Wisdom

December 10Wisdom. What was the wisest decision you made this year, and how did it play out? (Author: Susannah Conway)

I only made one wise decision this year.

Let me start with this saying; Do not aim for the stars, if you are going to miss the posies at your feet.

Sometimes we aim so high that we fail to see what lies before us. Ive aimed for the stars for sure, and tripped over the glorious things in my life that I have neglected or never recognised at all.

I quit my job. I quit a career. I quit because I was more tired than any gal my age. I was tired of tears, I was tired of underperforming, I was tired of doing something my heart wasn’t into, I was tired of losing my creativity, I was tired of sacrifice. I was tired of envy. Envy of those who seemed to have it so easy, as fulltime students whose only care that week was an assignment. I was tired of using my job as an excuse for the way I acted and felt, and yet did nothing about it. And maybe the grass really is greener on the other side but I wouldn’t know until I crossed over. I might even remember who my friends are and what they look like!

I wrote extensively about the drivers behind this back in November so I don’t need to rehash it here.

But ultimately it played out well. I smiled when I explained my resignation to colleagues, it felt exciting. It was the right choice, and one I should have made at the beginning of 2010, not at the end of a year of punishment. A weight was lifted, and they took it really well. I’ve even got a job if/when I choose to return. Understandably the weight has been replaced with another slightly smaller burden; ‘what will I do for money’, ‘how will I cope with all this time’, ‘how will I rebalance myself from a crazy hectic schedule to something more serene’? But these are the questions that I would rather go looking for than; ‘how will I fly to Sydney, audit the client site, write an assignment on the plane and then pull 2 allnighters right before final submission and then come into the office for end of month reporting the next day?’ *shudder *

It FEELS like the wisest choice I’ve ever made… aside from my decision to move to Melbourne of course. It feels right, and mature, and honest, and very very exhilarating.

Thanks to one wise decision in 2010, my 2011 is going to blow my mind.

#Reverb10 – No. 9 – Parrrrttttyyyy!

#Reverb10 – No. 9 – Parrrrttttyyyy!

December 9: Party. What social gathering rocked your socks off in 2010? Describe the people, music, food, drink, clothes, shenanigans.

Ahhhh THAT party. The one where you feel electric, alive, ecstatic. Like you’re 18 again and have not a care in the world.

Until you have to hose the vomit from the lawn, mop the floors, apologise to the police, and thank the neighbours… all with the headache to end all headaches and the promise to never EVER drink again.

We had one of those this year. Actually we had one of those last year too at the same time, and actually… the year before… the night Jimmy and I met.

Let me tell you about this party which has become somewhat of a tradition. No its not Christmas, or Easter, or Australia Day…its the “Multi-versary”. On March 18th every year, I celebrate another year in my adopted home of Melbourne. On this inaugural occasion in 2008, when I had been here a year, I had a houseparty, which evolved into a night out on the town. AND on this night, in 2008… I met my Jimmy. One year later, we moved in together. And we had a party to end all parties (or so we thought)… Superheroes vs Villians. This “dastardly” party celebrated 2 years of living in Melbourne (for me), one year of Jimmy and I being together, and our housewarming! One year later (this year) we celebrated 3 years of my being in Melbourne (and all its achievements), 2 years of Jimmy and I being together, and 1 year of us successfully living together.

There was no theme this year. However our group of friends had widened, shrunk, stretched, and changed. We had DJs, and a dirty big sound system. We had delicious Sangria and so so SO much food. We danced on the kitchen dance-floor until it became slippery from too many spilled drinks. We sat around the firepit and talked crap. We screamed with laughter, met new people, and hooked up friends. We politely talked to the police, then yelled over the fence at the neighbours. I smoked cigarettes, and I dont smoke. I drank too much red bull. We celebrated whatever we felt like celebrating… a friends’ birthday (that happened to be the same night), we celebrated my success in Melbourne, we celebrated Jimmy and I finding each other, we celebrated our awesome house. We celebrated knowing such awesome, supportive, genuine… trashbags.

And now… are you ready for evidence??

2008….

And 2009…..

And 2010!! ….

#Reverb10 – Day 8 – Beautifully Different

#Reverb10 – Day 8 – Beautifully Different

December 8Beautifully Different. Think about what makes you different and what you do that lights people up. Reflect on all the things that make you different – you’ll find they’re what make you beautiful. (Author: Karen Walrond)

Wow. This is a tough one. Its tough and it needs to be done, for a plethora of reasons. But how does one proclaim their difference and beauty without saying, ‘Hi I’m Kaye and I’m self absorbed’.

<there was a big pause here before I started writing again, I even got up to make myself a chai>

Ive decided to put myself in Jimmy’s shoes. He is always telling me how much of an incredible person I am, how amazing I will be, the success I will grow to and the new heights I will reach…. but I just dismiss most of these comments with a tickle and laugh and say, “Oh youre supposed to say that, youre my boyfriend”. And its true, that while you see someone for who they truly are when you love them, youre simultaneously blinded by rose coloured glasses.

<its at this point I paused again, to read what other reverb10-ers had written… how honest they had been… and I realised how nervous I was about this post!>

And I didnt find anything out there to help me. Because what is beautifully different about everyone else has nothing to do with me.

I AM;

Beautifully different. I am a writer who can only ever be honest. I am a lover of big words, metaphors and euphamisms ~ a walking thesaurus. I am a model with very unmodel-like behaviour. I drink beer, eat pizza, and listen to Australian hip hop, I love fast cars and motorsport, and the only labels I wear happen to be on my hightop kicks. I hold onto anger for a long time if I believe a wrong has been committed against myself or those I love. I hold onto guilt for longer. I am an avid musician trapped in a tone deaf body. I am 6ft 1 with no shoes on my feet and I own more pairs of high heels than I can recall ~ my height is their problem, not mine. I am a control freak who writes lists, crosschecks, edits life, and doesnt trust others to manage. I am a social media junkie and an internet addict. I am an interior designer by training but revel in business & strategy. I still cant save money. I have rare and impromptu creative bursts that wont come to play when I ask them too. I drink too much and have nasty hangovers and then take that nasty hangover to the gym for a beating. I am perceptive beyond my years. Im a shopaholic but wear the same clothes all the time… its important to be comfortable! I am anxious and depressive. I am manic. I play down my intelligence. My house is immaculate but I cant even see the floor in my bedroom for the mess. I love roadtrips and hate aeroplanes. I ‘play’ refined and cultured but Im such a giant dork. I look great without makeup but I always wear it. I dont know what my natural hair colour is. I have strong moral boundaries – there is no grey area, only black and white. I am fiercely loyal. Id prefer to go hiking and camping in the rain than hit a nightclub. I am all of these things at the same time. I am very different. I am beautifully different.

xx

 

Visit www.reverb10.com to see what Im going on about!

Reverb10 – No. 5 – Let Go

Reverb10 – No. 5 – Let Go

What did I let go of this year? The idea that I had to be superwoman. That I had to be independant and strong and tackle everything on my own. I let go of the idea/notion that I was so alone in these struggles, that no one would know how I felt or what Id been through. I also learnt how important it is to share as a part of the healing and learning process, and the importance of sharing to establish an internal and external dialogue so that we’d truly Let Go.

Watch the video for my full story!!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z57SjP8mAZQ 

(‘scuse the minor rambling :P )

You can also read the 10ThousandGirl story here; Klarity & Kaos & 10ThousandGirl

Grazia article below in all its glory! (click to enlarge)

Thanks for reading. x

#Reverb10 – Sense of Wonder – No. 4

#Reverb10 – Sense of Wonder – No. 4
Sense

Image via Wikipedia

December 4Wonder. How did you cultivate a sense of wonder in your life this year?

Id love to say Id cultivated a child-like wonder and fascination for the world. But there is nothing child-like about my oh-my-fking-gawd-how-on-earth-did-I-manage-that!? wonder.

Back in November I talked about resilience. The ability to push on despite everything blocking your path. A trait Ive developed through independence, procrastination, desperation, stubbornness, and genetics!

I wondered how I managed to work for 3 days straight… assignments at night, office during the day.

I wondered why I didn’t break down (I actually did, but didn’t recognise it because I was pushing so hard)

I wondered why I put in SO MUCH EFFORT and then flaked at the last minute

I wondered if anyone anywhere understood what I was going through

I wondered why I put myself through it

I wondered what it was for

I wondered why

And I wondered how I managed, and how to make it stop.

Ive cultivated this sense of ‘wonder’ throughout this year and last as I juggled everything and a small part of me is in awe that this kind of behaviour is humanly possible.

But for 2011 Id like to turn my wonder into education. A worthy lesson already learnt and not tread again.

More or Less – Talib

More or Less – Talib

Much respect to a talented and poignant lyricist. In an ideal world perhaps we’d see these things…. 

Talib Kweli

 

MORE OR LESS

More franchising
Less sanitizing
More uprising
Less downsizing
More enterprising
Less sympathizing
More building
Less destroying
More jobs
Less unemployment
Lets skip the devil
Less enjoyment
More marijuana
Less coke
More accountability for politicians
Before we shouting
Let’s vote!
More schools
Less prisons
More freestyle
Less written
More serious shit
Less kidding
More history
Less mystery
More Beyonce
Less Britney
More happiness
Less misery
More victory
Less losses
More workers
We all bosses
Of course its
Reflections

More love
Less hate
More real
Less fake
More
Less
Less stunting
More fame
Less talking
More change
Less wishing
More vision

The more I put into it
The less it sound like the nonsense
The more natural
The less conscious
At the same time the more bomb shit
The less the devil got a grip
I’m getting loose
We gotta slip away
The ghetto gotta get
More for a dollar
More fresh goods for purchase
Less liquor stores
Less churches looking like they corner stores
More rap songs to stress purpose with
Less misogyny and less curses
Lets put more depth in our verses
Till they left on the surface
While we stomp through the underground
The cops dont come around
You sorta hoping for that reflection
You sorta open
I heed the call of the chosen
I dont play with your emotions
Stop acting so god damn emotional
I give you these bars for free like it’s promotional
This aint no marketing strategy
It had to be from the heart in order to be reality
Reflections

More love
Less hate
More real
Less fake
More
Less
Less stunting
More fame
Less talking
More change
Less wishing
More vision

#Reverb10 – Day 3 – Moment

#Reverb10 – Day 3 – Moment

December 3Moment. Pick one moment during which you felt most alive this year. Describe it in vivid detail (texture, smells, voices, noises, colors). (Author: Ali Edwards)

OK so I cheated a little bit.

Kicking leaves at the Heide Gallery, Melbourne

I was able to go back through my tweets, facebook status updates, and blog posts, to find a moment when I felt ‘alive’.

I wondered if it was that time Jim and I went camping and hiking across the southern most point of the Australian mainland and covered almost 25kms in 2 days.

I wondered if it was that time that Jim took me down the Yarra River in a canoe at the peak of my depression, for a private picnic on an island.

I wondered if it was that time that Jim and I drove from Perth to Broome for 4 straight days, off road and in the mud in the 4WD.

And THEN I wondered at the sneaky similarities between them all….

To me, feeling alive is like feeling validated. It means proving to the most important person (yourself) that you are a person of worth. That you have something to give. That others value you. That you are important to others, that your opinion matters, how you feel matters, and what you wants matters.

Every time I look at him, I have a ‘moment’. Every time I open my lunch to find that he has slipped in a little love letter or love post-it-note, I have a ‘moment’. Every time I come home to find that he’s made a picnic on the loungeroom floor because its raining outside, I have a ‘moment’. Every time we climb onto the roof to drink champagne, or jump in puddles, or kick autumn leaves at each other, or have food fights – I am alive.

These are the times and the moments when I feel it. And Im lucky that its not just ‘one’ for the year. Because he makes me feel alive and I know that I have the very same effect on him. But I dont have to just tell you…. I can show you….

sneaky lunchbox love letters

Surprise confessions by candlelight

Vandalism at its most lovely!

"To the luckiest gal in the world from the luckiest guy in the world"

#Reverb 10 – Day 2 – Writing

#Reverb 10 – Day 2 – Writing

Well its December 5th.

And Im writing my December 2nd post. Im going great guns arent I now?

Ah well, I figure as long as I do it eventually… Im ok. Ive never had to blog every single day before. I usually wait until I have something important to say. Something painful. Or crazy joyful. But mostly painful, because people rarely want to hear about others successes….

_________________________________________

December 2Writing. What do you do each day that doesn’t contribute to your writing — and can you eliminate it?

I suppose I dont want to cross any boundaries. I dont know who reads this, I dont know who even cares. I dont know if I say anything of value, or if I sound like a broken record. Lets be honest, if this was just for me… Id keep a journal.

Ive never written every day and thus why Im 3 days behind in Reverb10. Im very much out of practise. But now I kind of feel like I have a responsibility to continue with a regular contribution, because Ive already committed to showcasing my writing to others.

But for the most part, I dont write every day because I dont have anything worth saying when the sun is shining. Writing is all kinds of wonderful therapy for me, but like any treatment, it only helps when something is wrong. If Im feeling great, why would I write?

Ive written some things Im very proud of. These things stem from a dark place, and the pain is like golden ink to my pen. But when I write about how good my day was, or life is, it not only feels like a farce… but also nothing of interest to anyone who might read it.

And thats why I dont write every day. Because not every day is a bad day.

Can I eliminate it? I dont know to be honest. We’ll know by the end of December. Although I expect that every one of these prompts will be introspective and therefore allow me to dig around for some cracker therapy. I hope one prompt is something really joyful so I can rant about something/anything that always brings a smile to my face. When that happens, maybe I will have eliminated ‘it’.

#Reverb10 – 2010 Reflections – 1 Word

#Reverb10 – 2010 Reflections – 1 Word

So I am officially one of almost 2000 writers participating in Reverb10. “Reverb 10 is an annual event and online initiative to reflect on your year and manifest what’s next. Use the end of your year as an opportunity to reflect on what’s happened, and to send out reverberations for the year ahead. With Reverb 10 – and the 31 prompts our authors have created for you – you’ll have support on your journey.”

Its not too late if you want to join in!  Check out the website    :)   

December 1 One Word.
Encapsulate the year 2010 in one word. Explain why you’re choosing that word. Now, imagine it’s one year from today, what would you like the word to be that captures 2011 for you?
______________________________________________________________

Wow. One word. How difficult… every month this year could have easily been a different word! A different piece every month that somehow never made a whole.

It was….. Fragmentary

Dictionary?  Adj. 1. fragmentary – consisting of small disconnected parts

Oh how apt. 

At times this year my life has been illustrious, and at times a shadowed well.

I started the year in that well. 40ft below the surface and struggling for air. I had no one and nothing when truly I had everyone and all I needed, and because I was so obsessed with being ‘stuck in this goddam well!’, I didn’t notice the rope dangling down, and instead clawed my way slowly to the top. On my own, despite all the arms reaching in to help pull me forth.  2010 was supposed to be my year.

Kaye doesn’t need help. Shes strong and independent and driven.

Or so they say.

In 2010 I chased a career I realised I desired only because it looked so glamorous (from the outside). I modified my studies to accommodate said career but continued to feel disenchanted with my own potential.

I juggled multiple ‘pursuits’ (8 for this year, at last count) because I simply always have, and it had slowly become what was always expected of me (“Oh Kaye does ALL these amazing things, she’s like… superwoman”) Because I had the time, and I didnt want to waste a single opportunity, however small, or menial.

I finally began to refute (and disprove) people  with nauseating sayings like, “You can do anything you set your mind to”. Well thats not true. Ive set my mind to many things this year and not achieved them, and Ive not achieved them NOT because I failed, but because I chose to bail before I could even flounder. Im a bit of a abandon-the-ship-when-it-has-a-leak-but-isnt-neccesarily-sinking kind of gal.

Im a perfectionist. And for that, I am a chronic procrastinator.

I am an over-achiever. And for that, I do not achieve as an alternative to poor performance.

2010 has been the year of the intentional mistake. The errors and bad choices of my choosing. How is that? Well I am a control freak plain and simple, and if I cannot have it my way, I shall choose to have it not at all.

So much of that behaviour is fear driven. And writing that almost brings me to tears because its not something I am comfortable admitting. That someone like ME, with my dogged head-on tackling of everything this life has thrown at me, might still harbour unfounded fear.

This year I have hated with more passion than I have loved. Of course I AM in love, but “acceptance” is so hard compared to engendering all your anger towards anyone who deserves it. And they always deserve it, but perhaps not with the severity at which I force it apon them.

In 2010 Ive been a realist. Every fantasy I’ve entertained about my future has been dulled to non-existence through my critical over-analysis of pro/cons and ‘reality checks’. Life isn’t peachy, life isn’t fair. Life doesn’t give you handouts and life doesn’t allow many things. So just put your head down and work your ass off. You’ve got 24hours in a day, but who really needs to sleep? If you get it, its because you earnt it. You sacrificed for it. People aren’t nice, money isn’t cheap. Things don’t ‘feel right’… ‘its not “in the air”’…they either ARE or ARENT.      ….Those kind of things.

Ive been told, “You don’t have to BE perfect”. And that hurts. You’d think Id appreciate someone pointing that out. Yes I do have to be…. Perfect YES, yes I do.

Ive cried until it was so pointless that I laughed.

Wow. Almost 500 negative words right there. That doesn’t sound very fragmented, that sounds incessant… unrelenting.

But let me go on.

I could never imagine anyone so perfect as the love I have right now. Jimmy holds all the answers, and when he doesn’t, he will hold my hand while I look for them. He’s patient and understanding and calm. He is the Yin to my Yang. Opposing & symbiotic at the same time, centred and joyous.

Ive written more this year than ever, and received some amazing (and humbling) feedback.

Ive made more connections (and money) and met more people this year as a model than any other year prior.

Ive learnt really interesting things about design, about people, about corporate life.

Ive travelled.

Ive been a great friend. And pretty good girlfriend.

Ive moved to a great new house and turned it into a home.

Ive adopted a new neighbourhood, and a new health regime/lifestyle with tangible rewards.

Ive laughed till I cried.

And thats why its fragmented. Because for every ray of hope, there is a dirty big rain cloud rolling in to spoil my parade.

Thats what comes from trying to please too many people. That’s what comes from doing something that my heart wasn’t in to… for 10 hours a day… 50 hours a week. That’s what comes for ignoring my ideas and aspirations because “they wont make me any money”, because they’re “unsustainable”, “unachievable”, “out of my reach” because “Ive already  built a life, and its a perfectly fine one and that’s more important”.

Its been messy. Its been irregular. Its been awesome and motivating. Its been unpredictable and entirely predictable.

My Intention for 2011: Passion

For the first time EVER, I will be a full time university student. I will no longer have a ‘career’ in the sense of the word.

2011 will be a year of doing those things that interest me; projects… jobs… subjects… that appeal to my passions. They wont need to have monetary reward. They wont have to be long term. They will be flexible, enlightening, inspiring, passionate.

For the first time there is no plan. No carefully structured and well thought out list of pros and cons, budgets, and backup options.

Just faith that Passion will carry me through. Embracing those fears because they will serve my intuition. Replacing my realist nature with intuition and imagination… I will be more of the Yin, less of the Yang. It will be MY passion WITH passion.

2010 was supposed to be my year. And, after re-reading this, Ive reasoned that it…. WAS??? It never gave me what I wanted, but it DID show me that I never wanted those things in the first place. It never gave me the answers, but told me I was asking the wrong questions. 2010 was my stepping stone, the key to my 2011. 2010 was my mediator, reckoning with me to find a new solution. And here it is.

Do Not Wear White – Bikram Yoga

Do Not Wear White – Bikram Yoga

Bikram Yoga.

I hate it as much as I damn well love it. Its quite possibly the only thing in my world that has the honour, nay… PRIVILEGE of such a title.

Except tequila. … a story for another time.

Let me just start by saying that I don’t sweat. When I say I don’t sweat I mean I do. I just choose not to engage in anything that might cause me to ‘shine on’ in the global sweat stakes. And before you even think about that… I have a fan in my bedroom. End of story.

I just don’t really do physical exertion. Ive played sports for short periods of time, and yes I do work out at the gym, but the moment the perspiration starts dripping off my nose… whoa thats just not COOL. *pun not intended – however awesome*

Bikram, in its heat-stretchy pleasure state, is the only environment where I get my sweat on. The beer from last nights drinking session, the curry that I had on Saturday, those delightful toxins hiding beneath my skin crying, ‘Ima gonna age you bitch!!’, all wiggle their way forth when I hit that 38 degree room.

In all its unpleasantness… its so damn pleasant.

If you’re a fella who likes your females glossy, this is the place to check them out. First of all, there is minimal clothing… crop tops and hot pants. The pitfalls (and there are many) are as follows;

People with minimal clothing that you DONT want to see… overweight hairy-bear men for example.

Then there’s the inexplicable ‘noises’. Yeah, people fart. Try not to laugh, it will breaks your zen state (well not really, but if you laugh… you risk farting too. Promise).

There’s the smell. If you can make the 4pm class, then do it. Cause by 7.45pm when two classes have gone before you… its eu de super-pong. The skin is the largest organ in your body, and I didn’t think much about this until I noticed that the class smells a great deal more on a Monday than on a Wednesday…. mostly because people don’t ‘yog’ on the weekend too much, and tend to ‘over-indulge’ instead. But by Wednesdays class, all that shit has been cleared from your organs. Tis True.

There’s the rather unattractive appearance of ones self during & after… beetroot red, soaked in sweat, hair plastered to your face and skin all shiny. You cannot do A SINGLE THING until you go home and shower, or shower straight after class. This is not fitting for a first date. Or any one of your first 10.

And lets not forget the pain. In a 38 degree room, your muscles are extremely receptive to the twisting and stretching and balancing act you put

believe it or not, this is my BEST pose! Dont know why...

forth. But the next day, it feels like you slipped beneath a truck at some point during the night. The up side is that this subsides, in fact, the best thing you can do for the pain, is to go again the next day and stretch all that lactic acid and guff out and make ‘ohmigodimfuckingdying’ noises.

Thats why I hate it.

But for all the same reasons…. I sleep much better, I have more energy during the day, my skin is clearer and smooth, I am slimmer and more toned, and I have a healthier appetite. I drink more water as a necessity, my joints are stronger, and the fitness flows on to my other ventures like jogging and hiking. I always leave the class very calm, and the class is great for managing my moods. Something about the forced silence (youre not to talk for 90 minutes) the regular breathing exercises, and the pure under-the-truck exhaustion. Sometimes I cry in class too. Not blubbering and bawling, just little tears, like an emotional release when I exit a posture. Apparently this is very common, so I don’t freak out, I just breathe it out. Orrr, I wait till I get home and have a really really awesome cry (which freaks Jimmy out!)

I LOVE this.

My tips!

  • Drink at least a litre of water before you go, take a bottle into the class, and drink a litre after. I aim for about 2.5L throughout the day (this has its own benefits!) and after the class I have electrolytes. People say to drink 2L before you go in, but this gives me a goddam water-baby and I cant bend at all!
  • Wear as little as possible without channelling your inner skank. I go crop top/sports bra, and little shorts. Dont wear lose running shorts, youre very close to other people and the poses can be compromising!
  • Take a change of clothes for afterwards. Your garments are saturated, guaranteed, and its not pleasant. At all.
  • Take a big fcukoff towel. Not a pissy little one that you give your house guests or take to the gym.
  • Dont eat for 2 hours beforehand. It hurts!
  • If youre going hardcore, buy a mat. The ones you loan stink to high heaven. Im still at the loaning stage though, and I just hold my breathe for the mat kissing poses. Again, another good reason to go to the 4pm class instead of 7.45
  • DO.NOT.WEAR.WHITE

If you havent tried it, I suggest you do. Most places give you a week free with your first class, then you can go as often as you can, see the benefits, and settle into the groove. Im in alot of pain today. But I’ll be at Bikram Yoga Prahran at 6pm tonight! ROAR!

This (dog-eared) Life

This (dog-eared) Life

Conni and I met  in 2003 when I was just 18 and fresh out of home. I desperately wanted a male dog, something big and strong to protect me in a dodgy neighbourhood. Instead I got Conni, a scrawny kelpie cross. She’d placed a black and tan paw on my thigh amongst all the hubbub of puppies, and her solemn chocolate eyes studied mine. Conni had decided she was keeping me. I couldn’t argue with that.

On the drive home, Conni sat on the accelerator, then the brake, and climbed over my chest to chew on my hair. And when we stopped at the supermarket for puppy supplies, she pooped all over my back seat. It was love.

Conni and I doted on each other. And when I got a boyfriend, the doting got a little one-sided, but never on her side of the equation. She learnt to fetch in the corridor of my tiny rental, skidding across the tiles on her toenails and slamming into the wall before bouncing back to me with showers of kisses.

After my 19th birthday, Conni got sick. I came home from work to find her slumped motionless on the floor, whimpering in pain and refusing to eat or drink. The vet said it was Gastro, and pumped her full of fluids. A day later, her bowels began to give way and a second trip confirmed Parvo. At 6 months old, her chance for survival was rare, she needed constant blood plasma transfusions and admittance to a 24 hour clinic on the other side of the city. In this day I was making a mere $350 a week, but I never paused to think how much it might cost, and we got in the car.

Diarrhoea and vomit covered the seat from our two hour drive to the specialist. I carried her limp skeletal frame into the clinic and stood there, covered in Conni’s mess, as they insisted on all payment – up front. Their recommendation was euthanasia (as the cheaper alternative). I could only stand there, mouth agape…. No.way.in.hell. A phonecall from the waiting room, with my shuddering baby draped across my lap, and my parents loaned the money for admission.

I will never ever forget the tears when I collected her two days later, nor the joy in Conni’s faded eyes. She wriggled from the vets arms when she spotted me, whining in a familiar ecstatic voice that cried out ‘omigod omigod omigod!!’. Tail thumping like a propeller, she knocked a catalogue of brochures from their stand. I didn’t bother to pick them up, I was cuddling her too hard.

As the years passed, Conni never wavered in her utter devotion.  She chased bicycles, jumped fences, barked incessantly, jumped in the shower when she wasn’t welcome, and almost drowned chasing balls in the dam. And the loyalty grew stronger with every year. When my relationship crumbled I sank into depression, and Conni sat silent and still for the first time in her hyperactive life. For hours I cried into her black fur, salty tears licked delicately from the tip of my nose. And I would scream and hit her to vent my anger, but she’d always come slinking back, offering the warmth I craved. She steered me through those suffering nights, as my counsellor, and comrade, and when I moved home to my parents house, she came with. It was here I discovered how fast she could run, when she tried to take down the horse! Or how she could swim underwater when chasing that elusive tennis ball. Or how much she was still a puppy, and while smart and obedient, was just beautifully dumb.

In early 2007 I moved to Melbourne, leaving Conni to play with my parents three other dogs. It was my intention to spend some time here, deciding if I wanted to make it permanent, then I would set myself up, and bring her over in a year or so. Conni never got that chance.

One day she ate a box of snail pellets. Not one, or 5, but an entire box. Foaming and convulsing, the vet pumped her stomach. But she was never the same, the neurotoxins had permeated her brain, creating a behaviour response much like schizophrenia.  In mere weeks she became nervy, skittish and unpredictable. She baulked at people she once showered with love. Then she chased the neighbour down the street with savage ferocity. Then she bit my grandma, in our own house.

In August 2007, Conni was put down. The most gut wrenching thing Ive ever been a party to, and I sobbed uncontrollably as I pleaded for an alternative. On the phone to mum, sitting at my desk at work, I was in hysterics. A colleague led me out slowly by the arm, and sent me home. I rang my ex, desperate for someone to see her plight. I begged mum to wait for me to find an answer – but there was none. No one would take her now that she had bitten someone, and she wasn’t getting better. I had abandoned her to pursue my own life, and she had lost her one treasured companion. The guilt and anguish of knowing her fate and having no way of deflecting it, tore me to shreds.

Conni was buried under the Willow tree on the banks of the dam where she’d learnt to (finally) swim. She was only 4 years old.

I’d wanted a large, refined, obedient Dog. Instead I got a skinny, uncouth, chaotic, and totally perfect spirit, Conni – a human in canine form, and my eternal friend.

Man never made any material as resilient as the human spirit

Man never made any material as resilient as the human spirit

“Man never made any material as resilient as the human spirit.”

- Bern Williams

Resilience, like courage, is a measure of indomitable human spirit. It is the capacity to push on against obstruction, to carry on where others have failed. Resilient people have the capacity to see beyond what pains them, they have the long term vision to carry them beyond the hurdles they face. It is why some of our greatest talents succeeded despite child abuse, it is why men lost in the wilderness for days have survived, it is why prisoners of war didnt give up, and why some of the greatest human feats were achieved

Ive been busting my a** these past couple of months as a few more goals inch closer within my reach… I cant pretend that it wasn’t hard, I cant pretend that I wasn’t rejected again and again, that I ran out of money, cried in the corner, and ate entire blocks of chocolate. And I cant pretend that I didn’t have to work 60 hour weeks, work two jobs, and study allnighters, and completely ignore my partner just to prove myself… but I knew what I wanted. I found my long term view. And its not perfect, and it changes a little every now and then, but may I just say Im 25 years old and Ive only just started to form the vaguest idea. Previously this had made me angsty and impatient, but little by little im starting to enjoy the journey.

Ive got a long way to go though, and sometimes people ask in bewilderment how I cope when I havent slept in 3 days before a uni submission. Honestly? I don’t know. I just do, and I probably always will. I once worked with a woman who was a Change Manager, she orchestrated policies to instigate workplace change, and when I asked her what the difference is between stubborn and receptive staff she said, ‘Resilience is the key’. She was right, and we can apply those few words to pretty much every aspect of our lives. Resilient people dont resist change, they go with it. I know personally, I just kept going, I took one pining look at my long term objective, fixed it in my mind and then put my head down and watched my feet take one step at a time. And suddenly, somehow, I stumbled here:

... a happy place

 The unfortunate news is, that I think very few of us are born with inherent resilience. I know I wasnt, Im so guilty of giving up on some things I wish I hadnt. Resilience, like a muscle, develops with strength as it works tirelessly to fight the hurdles. Your resilience to hunger occurs only because you are used to having little food. Your resilience as a super-triathlete occurs because you trained every single day. Resilience comes from working out that muscle ligament attached to your dream. If you want resilience, forget about tomorrow, because tomorrow isn’t ever going to come. Think about who you are today, and who you will be when you achieve that goal. Then just put your head down and start walking…

Wanted: Long Lunches & Sleepins – Enquire within

Wanted: Long Lunches & Sleepins – Enquire within

In my new apartment, we sacrificed a large bedroom for a kick-ass Chapel St location. Consequently we had to economise when it came to organising more clothes than David Jones. Aside from a lot of op shop donations and a quickly filling rubbish bin for dilapidated shoes, we invested in several under-bed rollaways to fill with winter clothes, now that summer was on its way (a bold move!). Today I pulled on my work staple, a tailored navy blue suit and patent black heeled pumps, and mused that very soon, this too would find a home in the tubs beneath my bed.

Not because winter is releasing its grip, but because Ive made the rather bold move of quitting my job!

I started with WB in 2007, two months after I arrived in Melbourne from Perth. With a background in design from Curtin Uni, I had a leg up to put me in front of other candidates, and I stepped into an administrative role for the Consulting team.  Ive been through a number of roles while here (most of them stemming from the GFC and the appropriation of my ‘cost’ to various disciplines in a bid to keep me employed) from Administration > to Proposal Coordinator > to Consulting Coordinator > to Finance (Defence Consulting) > to Finance (Melbourne) > and back to Consulting Coordinator post GFC (managing financial reporting and proposal/tender coordination and marketing) > and then promoted to my current role as a Consultant, working with clients such as La Trobe University, National Australia Bank, Melbourne Water, and Google. Naturally this final role has been the most rewarding.

But I haven’t just been working here for the last three and a half years. During 2007 I took time off from uni to rebuild myself in a new city, and in 2008 I returned to study at Swinburne University, for a Bachelor of Design (Interior Design). An interest in business strategy (fostered by working alongside the Consulting team) saw me convert to a double degree at the beginning of 2010, and I will graduate with a Bachelor of Business (Management), as well as a Bachelor of Design (Interior Design) with the goal of skipping all those nasty first few years as a recent grad in the marketplace.

 

But it doesn’t stop there. During this time Ive also worked at a Pizzeria, a Chapel St bar, and moonlighted as a writer, model, and actress. Im no longer at the bar or the restaurant, but I am modelling much much more, and also working as a hostess at various events. And when I wasn’t doing any of these things, well… I was studying! I was pushing almost 70 hours every week (around 80% in the office, 15% classes & study, 15% ‘other’ work) Somewhere in there I also, thankfully, managed to find time to fall in love. <3

This may sound like alot to the average person. But I also don’t believe Im average. And I don’t mean that in a self-inflated, narcissistic way. What I mean is that I am aware through my experience and my interaction with others, that I do alot in the mere 8760 hours that are given to me every year. This doesn’t make people who do less, lazy… and it doesn’t make me a high achiever by a long shot. In fact I know lots of people who are doing the ‘juggling’ act, I just juggle a career defining role instead of a waitress job. Ive been juggling these balls for about 6 years now, ever since I started studying. Ive always been a part time student, and worked two (sometimes more) jobs, and never done the uni bum thing. Ive talked about this before…. what it would be like to have infinite freedom, and an empty wallet. Well Im about to find out!

In December through to February of this year, I had a mini breakdown. A realisation of everything and anything, coming to blows in my mind like an electrical storm. I shut down, broke down, crumbled, and every other analogy possible to represent a complete shambles of existence. I have a vague recollection of people being genuinely concerned for my welfare but somehow, as I always do, I elected to fight on my own. And so I did, rebuilding from nothing to everything when in reality very little in my world, externally, had changed. It started a thought process that culminated in several notions, the most critical being that I was always looking forward, always reaching for the best opportunities, the most money, the greatest advancement, but I was missing the little things. Like sleep ins with my boy (sorry babe I have to rush to a shoot!), like long lunches with uni friends (sorry guys I have to go back to the office!), like my writing (and close to 10 unfinished blog posts). There is a quote that says ‘Don’t aim for the stars if you will miss the posies at your feet’. I think that sums it up perfectly. I was so busy being the best, being perfect at everything, taking on all that was so fortunately offered to me… that I forgot the joy of making mistakes, of learning, of laughing… of doing nothing.

A few weeks ago I skipped two weeks of classes, several assignments, and dodged querying correspondence from uni, in order to finish a space audit for a client. I was required on site all day. Every day. I was in my element and gave it 110% percent. But naturally this left nothing, a negative void, for my school work. And it suffered. And then I was shaken with guilt. And I realised that if I was to continue on this career path, something would have to give. If I had an assignment due, and a client report due… which would take priority? Of course it would be the one to which I was responsible to another person for. The only person I am responsible to for my schoolwork was me. And me can wait!

I thought I could do it all. You know, so many people told me I could do anything I wanted, I could take on the world, manage any obstacle, people that said I had gumption, balls, bravery, blind stupidity to achieve whatever … but what I really wanted was someone to tell me I COULDNT do it, that I didn’t have to measure myself against a perfect scale. So after lengthy conversations with my parents (who intuitively knew much was wrong – even from the other side of the country) and Jimmy (who always maintained that anything I wanted to do, he would stand by me) I decided to resign.

I looked at it this way; As much as I had put into this role, my loyalty would never pay the dividends that I had paid to it. If I went away, it would likely be there when I came back. However if I put my studies on hold, not only would I hit a career ceiling, Id likely never go back to school. As well as this, I wanted to BE a uni bum, more than anything. I didn’t want to stress and cry about dividing those 8760 hours into reasonable allocations for every one of my multiple pursuits. So last week I quit, and I finish here at the end of the year.

There is still a great deal of fear. How will I cope with more time, and a new kind of life, where I control my spare time as freely as my uni timetable, but watch my wallet like a hawk. Fortunately the fear is outweighed by the excitement. The prospect of spending more time with less people, more time indulging in creative pursuits… modelling, writing, film…. jumping on board new ventures and opportunities and investing my creative energy into real-time returns. Im genuinely excited about freelance writing, and interior design, and working a part time job that allows me to clock in at designated hours, where I can leave work pressures at work, and leave on time. Yes, I will have significantly less money, but I will (and already) have infinitely more. More time, more happiness, more simple joys, more appreciation, more creation, more learning, more sleep ins, and more long lunches. Ok and yes, I am already filling these impending free hours with ideas… but they’re MY ideas. And who knows if I will actually ever go back to the firm… for now the choice is allllll mine.

Luff. xx

And here’s a smiley face… for good measure.  x

Oh god. Theyre talking about me!

Oh god. Theyre talking about me!
Image representing Facebook as depicted in Cru...

Image via CrunchBase

Young Australians are ‘culling’ friends, rebelling against ‘multitasking’ and defying the need to be ‘always on’, survey finds

As read on Anthill Online

October 27, 2010 | By Christopher Mote
Young Australians may not be disowning their mobiles or leaving Facebook in droves, but they are learning how to keep social technology in check, as a report on youth marketing suggests.

The study reveals a snapshot of the four million Australians between the ages of 16 and 30 as a tech-savvy, consumerist-minded generation with a mighty purchasing power. Nearly half still use Facebook and social media more than five hours per week, but many now value strength of friendships over number of friends.

While they are taking up more old-fashioned pursuits such as reading novels or visiting museums, many of them are still driven by the lifestyle of multitasking, the need to juggle more than one activity on and around the computer, leading to sensory overload.

“Pressing pause” is the recurring theme of this year’s Urban Market Research (UMR) report – compiled by Lifelounge Group in conjunction with Sweeney Research – which makes the case for using more subtle approaches to target youth markets.

“Young people literally are doing ten things at once these days,” said Dion Appel, CEO of Lifelounge. “Pressing pause is not about switching off. It’s about temporarily alleviating the pressure.”

Dr. Cassie Govan, the co-author of UMR from Sweeney Research, elaborated on the psychological dimension to the trend.

“The pressure they are feeling to take a pause is a result of their deep-seated need to stay socially connected and culturally aware,” she said. “Falling behind isn’t an option. There’s an ever present undercurrent of anxiety around this fear of missing out or dropping off the pace. We call this ‘exclusion anxiety’ and it’s a function of wanting to avoid feeling socially aloof or culturally detached.”

The subtle side to Gen Y
Besides multitasking, the report covers many cultural trends, with insights for marketers on how to sell to a generation that accounts for $68 billion in spending power per year.

The data behind UMR was compiled from an online survey of 1,700 Australians between 16 and 30. However, report findings were also based on qualitative research that included interviews, online chats, journal entries and digital video recordings of snippets of participants’ daily lives.

To no one’s surprise, Facebook was the most popular web site among those surveyed. When asked to name the one thing “they can’t live without,” 30% said an internet connection and 20% said their mobile phones, placing higher than cars, television, alcohol or favourite clothing. Among most popular fashion brands, Nike came at the top of the list, while Nokia was the top mobile phone brand.

Yet there were other less expected findings. Fifty-six percent of participants said that they spend at least one hour a week reading a book, and more said they went to an art gallery or the theatre than a rave or dance party within the past year.

According to the study, friends and peer networks are more important to young Aussies than music for validating themselves and their likes and interests. Music had previously been the number one “defining pillar” in the last six years of the survey.

And “being a ‘geek’ is cool,” as bloggers and tweeters “have emerged as strong influencers with the authority and credibility money just can’t buy,” while “shows like ‘Glee’ made the Top 20 lists” in this year’s survey.

Still, multitasking remains widespread: 80% of respondents reported “doing other things” while online. It’s why the Lifelounge Group emphasises the need to “[balance] the demands of being constantly ‘on’ by turning to more organic pursuits” – including books, galleries, sport and the like.

On that note: keep an eye out for a rise in glee club memberships.

Other Highlights from the UMR study
  • Spending power: The biggest weekly outlay is on household expenses ($403.86), following by socialising and entertainment ($122.42) and clothing and accessories ($99.71).
  • Home sweet home: Thanks to the First Home Owner’s grant, the number of young people with mortgages has increased from 11.5% last year to 14% this year. There’s still no rush to move out of home though, with 47% of 16 to 30 year olds living with their parents (down slightly from 50.2%), 24% renting and 15% living in a share house.
  • Make me beautiful: Despite a focus on ‘keeping it real’ this year, a significant 64% of young adults said they would consider some kind of cosmetic treatment over the next 5 years.
  • Do you love me? Respondents were fairly evenly split on whether sex should mean ‘being in love.’ Only a small minority felt sex was ‘expected’ on the first date.  For those that are having sex (three quarters of respondents), they can be a little blasé about sexual health with only 45% having had an STD test.
  • The rise of the cull: A focus on quality vs. quantity has seen a ‘rise of the cull’ on Facebook – for young adults, it used to be about having the most friends, now it’s about having the best friends.  47% of people spent five hours or more on Facebook each week, with Facebook the number one web site followed by Google.

________________________________________________________________________

As read on Anthill Online

The Fantastic Mr Fromm

The Fantastic Mr Fromm
Erich Fromm

Image via Wikipedia

 Erich Fromm was an early 20th century sociologist and psychoanalyst, who defined the conditions for creativity  as “the capacity to be puzzled, to concentrate, to accept conflict and tension, to be born every day, and to feel a sense of self”. And that “our creativity requires the courage to let go of certainties”.

He was a clever man, that Mr Fromm.

I,  moved to Melbourne from sleepy little Perth, and fell in love with the gentle grandeur of this city.  That was on a dark night in May 2007… now I know that sounds a little dramatic, but it truly was a dark night, for those around me, and for the tortuous place in which my heart lived. Two weeks prior, I had no intention of moving anywhere, Id settled with the life I had, but hadn’t really wanted – I honestly saw no other way out.

I myself, can vouch for the suggestion to take a leap of faith – having hit my own life with a hammer so bloody big it really shook my family and friends. I arrived in Melbourne with $50 in cash, and a credit card. I only told a handful of people I was leaving, and from the decision to the flight, was only a few days. I had a suitcase full of clothes, but nothing remotely warm enough! I had no job lined up, and no place to live. I couch/bed surfed for two months at the house of a guy Id met on the internet. But no matter how tough it got in the months that followed , I knew that where I was now, was infinitely better, safer, and saner, that the ‘place’ I had once been, for my head and for my heart.  I wasn’t seeking a creative breakaway, my motivations were not for professional gain, or to see more of the world. Instead I ran away from many things – and the terror of knowing my life was spiralling dangerously out of control. And when people tell me that they cant do something, Im brutally honest when I say; Bulls***!!

The courage to let go on certainties was what it took. Not knowing how I was going to find a house, get a job, make friends, pay my rising bills, and do it all alone – was the greatest gift to myself. I cannot even begin to believe the life I have now, the opportunities that are presented to me in work and school and life, and the self worth I have gained from that conflict and tension of risk.

Human beings have an indomitable spirit like nothing most people have ever seen, and a dirty big hammer is going to smash the door wide open for you as it did for us…… you just have to be willing to swing it. Start by taking steps to do as Fromm wrote, and you will inch closer to that creative soul, one open to adventure, wisdom, and the  joy of living every damn day in every way that you possibly can.

Inspiring Women – The 10thousandgirl campaign

Inspiring Women – The 10thousandgirl campaign

I was first introduced to the 10Thousand Girl Campaign  by a friend of mine, a fellow financially-inept-female. And oh! It was like two women had opened my crazy brain, taken one gobsmacked look and said, “We need to fix that quicksmart”. And so I investigated …and the more I read about and communicated with one amazing women behind the project, the more I felt I needed to tell you all about it. I’ll be honest when I say I’m terrible with money. I know I know, everyone says that. But I am a true-blue genuine paycheque to paycheque kind of gal.

Two years ago in iconic Sydney pub, The London, a group of women were brought together by the desire to educate themselves around the topic of money. The goal was to learn about investing and perhaps to invest as a group. As 10thousandgirl Campaign founder Zoe Lamont recalls, “We shot around an email wanting to get a gang of us together to help each other learn…. the email ended up being shot around everywhere, with girls turning up at The London we didn’t even know”. But the fire had been started and as a result, the team of women went forth, pooling their resources to engage financial planners and other experts that could assist them, while saving on professional fees.

As a business coach, Zoe was especially privy to the difficulties faced by business men and women who had poured so much energy into their work over the years, that they had neglected to financially plan for their most valuable non-depreciative asset; themselves. A recent report by the Investment and Financial Services Association (IFSA) found that the money one would need to live comfortably in retirement had risen by 55% in 4 years, and that to sustain a standard of living, the Australian Government would have to lift the mandatory superannuation guarantee from 9% to 12%. That’s a pretty scary thought, and Zoe saw the fear first hand. “One day I was sitting with a 62 year old woman who owned a hair salon, she was burnt out, her investment plan was her business and it had ceased to be a saleable asset. The walls were peeling, and a once bustling salon was losing customers every day. She wasn’t happy inside”. Both Zoe and her client were brought to tears, and she resolved at that point to ensure that every young woman had a plan, and that they actioned it now, before time slipped away.

Fast forward to 2010 and those first inspired conversations morphed into the campaign we now know as 10thousandgirl. Zoe had teamed with Anneli Knight, journalist and finance writer, and Finance, Law, and Journalism graduate. Together with a group of as many passionate experts as they could muster, and lots of research, they produced the Personal Finance Program for the 10thousandgirl campaign. But the project is much more than just a take home finance program. Its about empowerment, and the campaign falls under a social business model, with part proceeds going to microfinance organisation, Opportunity International.

When I mentioned to Zoe about my fear of buying a house, she agreed that lack of confidence was often a common denominator for young women. “Women are gaining financial control at a rapid rate and its inspiring and incredible, it’s something we should be celebrating, it’s scary buying a house when all you see in the headlines is pressure, downturn, risk…. for some of us it’s like anything we haven’t done before. We’re learning how a new industry works and the process of navigating it”. Zoe advocates going to lengths to self-educate, “It helps to be able to gather opinions, do research, know what questions to ask, talk decisions, options and opportunities over with friends and family who have or are going through the process now”.

The 10thousandgirl campaign provides a good place to start. With support from the Australian Government and Opportunity International, and sponsors Napolean Perdis and ING Direct, the campaign is set to roll out across the nation.

So why am I going along? Apart from the obvious paycheque to paycheque scenario? Allow me to write something that I have never shared.

In 2007 I went insolvent. It was the last straw for a young woman who’d spent 2 months unemployed, moved interstate, and had three personal loans and three maxed out credit cards to my name at 22 years old… and nothing to show for it. I could not consolidate my debt, as I needed to show a history of regular payments… which I couldn’t do. I was determined to survive in my new city, whatever it took, and stubborn pride and desire to do it all on my own stopped me from asking for help, and so the money that should have gone to debt agencies, paid for my bond and first month’s rent. And then it was downhill from there.

6 months later the paperwork was complete, no more debt collectors calling, and more managle payments. What does this mean for me now? Well it sounded good at first, but here are the logistics; I have no credit rating whatsoever. And my debt agreement is burnt onto my financial record for 7 years. That means I cannot buy a new car, change mobile phone providers, buy new furniture, or buy a house, on credit, until I’m 30 years old. Pretty daunting eh?

I wouldn’t wish it on anybody, it was stressful decision to say the least, but you’d be surprised how close to it some people are. And yet, the GFC last year really made me more aware that I was still lacking control over my finances. It was a hot topic on my lips and those of my friends, “How long could you last if you got fired today”. Even though I was paid monthly, my answer was only “Two weeks”. THAT’S how financially overcommitted I am. To get a house I guess we’re going to have to learn how to save, and overcome that fear of financial commitment. We both work two jobs, and we both make more money that we ever have before, and yet it still never seems like enough.

The bio’s of Zoe and Anneli read something like a professional fairytale; travel, entrepreneurship, volunteer work, media hype, connecting with people from all walks of life, environmental and political consciousness, social responsibility, and a whole lot of ‘doing what you’re passionate about’. They are truly inspiring in the diversity of their professional lives, and now the time has come for them to provide other women with the tools to make their own inspired decisions, and pursue their professional goals, supported by the security of a plan for the future. And why is it called 10thousandgirl? Well, that’s how many young women they hope to reach and encourage through the major cities events and regional bus tour! Have a good think if you’d like to be one of those, because if my situation sounds remotely like yours, then it needs improving.

In a way, I like to consider my Part IX DA (Insolvency) a blessing. I still regularly burn through savings, or completely blow my budget, but I am forced to not get into personal debt again until I am financially mature enough to handle it. On Saturday I am taking myself (and that fellow financially-inept-female) along to the 10thousandgirl workshop. It’s time to seize ownership once and for all. Zoe’s excitement, enthusiasm, and complete belief in the project is infectious…. so Ive got my notepad, and my flimsy see-through-budget, and Im ready to be inspired. Bring it on!

How long could YOUR money last if you became unemployed today?

xx K

Cherry Blossoms

Cherry Blossoms

Let me just start by saying Im a realist.

I have a small ‘issue’ with people quoting their blue sky dreams to me. That’s not to say I don’t admire them for having them and aiming high. Its more to do with how I challenge them – how will they get there, what plan do they have, how will they fund it… those sorts of questions. If they can back it up…. great! Ive been accused of being a negative nancy, which does not bother me. Far from negative though, someones got to be the voice of reason right?

 I digress.

Consequently, I don’t usually bend to ‘omens’. I used to, but it didn’t get me very far. I don’t make choices or decisions based on a feeling, or a sign. Hard facts get hard results people!  ;o)

This morning was different.

 Its Monday and I overslept, waking with a niggling hangover (not the worst Ive had, but still unpleasant). I was late to work (nothing new) and had to walk to the station (my ‘ride’ aka Jimmy, had to leave early). I rounded the corner at the end of the street, where the bare branches of a tree hiding from winters grip would usually catch in my hair or knock my beanie off – I could never navigate it correctly.

Sun rising - North Brighton Station

 This morning I happened to glance up, and noticed the ‘scraggy’ tree was covered in pink blossoms. I had NEVER noticed that it was a cherry tree. Fancy that. As I continued to look up, I noticed that every tree had started to bud flowers and leaves in succession, a chorus-line of colour fighting through the drab. Then it was like a lightbulb… crap. The sun was out! I had tiny beads of sweat on my upper lip, my sunglasses were on, and I wasn’t even wearing my jacket or gloves (the first time in months). You have to live in Melbourne to understand this phenomenon.

 Given that Australia has no definitive seasons, its quite amazing to see the onset of ‘spring’ in this way… a mere 7 days before the official ‘commencement date’ of September 1st.

 I can honestly say for that short 15 min walk to the station, I stopped being a realist and became a dreamer. I was convinced that today, this week, this month… they were going to be great. How could they NOT be?          Spring was here.

One and Not Two

One and Not Two

“Love is a temporary madness. It erupts like an earthquake and then subsides. And when it subsides you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots have become so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part.

Because this is what love is.

Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not the promulgation of promises of eternal passion. That is just being “in love” which any of us can convince ourselves we are.

Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident. Your mother and I had it, we had roots that grew towards each other underground, and when all the pretty blossom had fallen from our branches we found that we were one tree and not two.”

~St Augustine~

The Visitor

The Visitor

I arrived in central Richmond by train, and followed the road that flanked the tracks. Turning left into a vehicle access way, I tottered along the narrow entrance, guided by the filth-ridden gutter. A ‘Number 29’ in peeling white paint glared down at me from the walls above and an arrow ordered me further.

The building itself stood within a cluster or similarly drab warehouses, three storeys high of solid red brick and devoid of windows. A man in oil covered slacks reclined against a steel roller door and watched me carefully from the shadow beneath his hat brim, dragging heavily on his smoke. I followed the perimeter of the building, across the cobblestones, until I found a heavy timber door. A sticky-taped sign instructed me to go to Level Two. In the darkness of the building, I tucked my folder under my arm and fumbled around for the elevator button. When the doors opened, I slipped inside, turning to negotiate the disused boxes that filled its interior.

On reaching the second floor, I stepped out into a long corridor and began to trek down its darkened length across uneven timber boards. The entire building was deathly silent, and my heels echoed off the white washed walls. Finding Room-3, I reached to open to the door open to have it pulled wide in front of me. He’d heard me coming.

A warm face greeted me and pressed its wet nose to my stockinged shin.

“I hope you like dogs! Welcome”.

The room was filled with office furniture, computers, dress hangers, lighting, cameras, a cyclorama and an infinity wall. The kelpie trotted across the floor and took up roost beneath his masters desk.

“I felt like I was walking into a horror movie!”

“Haha yeah people say that a lot”.

Just your average casting visit really. Why do photographers always love setting up in creepy warehouse spaces?

When you want to be the artist of your own life….

When you want to be the artist of your own life….


Stay loose. Learn to watch snails. Plant impossible gardens. Invite someone dangerous to tea. Make little signs that say Yes! And post them all over the house. Make friends with freedom and uncertainty. Look forward to dreams. Cry during movies. Swing as high as you can on a swingset by moonlight. Cultivate moods. Refuse to “be responsible”. Do it for love. Take lots of naps. Give money away. Do it now. The money will follow. Believe in magic. Laugh a lot. Celebrate every gorgeous moment. Take moonbaths. Have wild imaginings, transformative dreams, and perfect calm. Draw on the walls. Read every day. Imagine yourself magic. Giggle with children. Listen to old people. Bless yourself. Drive away fear. Play with everything. Entertain your inner child. You are innocent. Build a fort with blankets. Get wet. Hug trees. Write love letters. Open up. Dive in. Be free.

By Sark.

The Morning After

The Morning After

The first thing I hear is nothing. There’s light in the room and the day is completely still. A ringing begins to echo through my ear drums with soft reverberation and I have vague recollections of standing directly next to a speaker, shouting over the bass. Before I have time to move a limb, and immediately after the awareness that I am actually still alive, railway nails are driven into the tender part of my skull, right between the eyes. The banging builds as theyre drive further into my brain and I press the heels of my palms into my eye sockets to dull the sting. I always convince myself that if I just hadn’t opened my eyes, and let the sun touch my pupils, it would never hurt as much – I need to start wearing eye patches to bed! Groaning, I roll over and reach blindly for the bottle of water on my bedside table, its unfortunately still full and now warm. Clearly I did not drink any before I slept.

The water sloshes violently down my throat in my desperate bid to lift the drought, and its not just my sore throat crying out for it, but I can feel every emaciated cell reaching to the skies. And through the thudding I become aware of the shape beside me, sprawling, and snoring, with limbs hanging from the edge of the bed. The whole room smells like stale beer, and it seems like I passed out on my left shoulder again, as its contorted and bent beneath me and does not have the strength to move. I twist beneath the covers to alleviate the intense heat of a body in overdrive, realising that I’m still wearing last nights clothes. Who’s bloody idea was this anyway.

I rise on one elbow and look at my boyfriend, there’s drool on his pillow. I look at my own, and mascara and red lipstick dance together in patterns across the slip. I don’t even want to think about my face, which feels thick with grime. I need to pee. Standing from the bed, the arch of my foot lands on the heel of the stilettos I left on the floor and I curse in pain, knowing full well thats where I always leave my heels. Stumbling forward completely disorientated, I clutch the door frame and slide my body along the hallway. My eyes refuse to focus.

After I wee, I stand feverishly over the toaster, begging for the dry toast to pop so that I can chew on my painkillers and swallow my vitamin B without throwing up. I glance out the window and a woman walks briskly past with her excited dog. I grit my teeth and send all her my negative energy, but the ache doesn’t go away. I think a poltergeist has ransacked my kicthen, the cupboard doors are swung open and partially eaten food is strewn across the table. I spy a kebab wrapper in the bin… Im going to feel that later.

Stumbling back down the hall, I wonder what caused the purple bruising on my shins, and where the hell my purse is. I open the front door to bring in some air and discover my keys still in the lock. Yeah, really clever.

My gut is churning and my stomach feels tight and bloated, Im not sure if I need to wee again, or throw up.
I pull out my earrings and all the pins from my hair and slip out of my clothes. I climb back into the hot bed, gulp some more water, and promise I will never ever drink again. I fall back asleep, praying for relief. Its only midday after all.

Happy May 17th

Happy May 17th

Today was momentous…. a little bump for the congregations of pilgrams who migrate from west to east… a mountain for me.

On the 17th of May every year I grant myself the opportunity to stop, step back, and congratulate my inner self. On the 17th of May 2007, I found truth in the idea that everything truly would be ok, and on the 17th on May 2007 and every subsequent year since, I find the strength and resolve to fight for everything I ever believe in and hold cherished.

This day three years ago I boarded that lonely midnight flight to the other side of the country. Broke, depressed, dependent, deserted…. and yet electricity humming under my skin begging to burst forth in a shower of blue sparks.

It has taken years for those sparks to illuminate the path I now walk. Three years and still, some years yet to come.

I wasn’t a girl when I came to this place, nor was I a woman. I was just a vacant body devoid of dreams and only harbouring the desire for something else. I’ve turned that ‘else’ into some and more.

You should see me now.

She’s almost here

She’s almost here

I have this feeling, that its creeping up behind me, blowing the hairs on my neck and whispering promises in my ear. It’s a serendipitous visit from an old friend and flower from a stranger, curious and endearing.

Something amazing is going to happen.

Its in the shudder of the iron before the train appears on the bend, its her soft sigh as the gull rises to the wind. You can hear it coming, if youre paying attention, like the electric crackle in the air before the storm.

Its coming.

I wish I knew what it was, this tingling and anticipation.

It must be big.

I know you can feel it too sometimes. Its validated by the sparkle in my eyes - the secret I keep that I cannot voice - as I gaze to the horizon, clutching ticket in hand.

The ticket without print. Without destination.

I stand on the crumbling kerbside, willing my future to rumble over the hill into sight, to arrive with a fanfare of colour and laughter, and to sweep my suitcase of dreams and I away.

Interview with Gary Newton

Interview with Gary Newton

A few months ago I sat down with Gary and we talked about his role as a life and business coach. We probably ran overtime, and definately covered some interesting areas, but we shed some light on the mysteries of the coaching profession.
Then I spent HOURS editing! haha

You can find the entire interview and introduction over at Inspiration Unplugged.

http://inspirationunplugged.com/kaye-waterhouse-interviews-gary-newton/

To be honest, I may have been a little selfish in my endeavour to interview him, as Ive always been interested in Coaching so it was a way of having my questions answered. Hopefully you find it helpful too! 

My name is Kaye and I eat Tim Tams at midnight

My name is Kaye and I eat Tim Tams at midnight

With my ever expanding network and ever decreasing time, I like to play ‘stacks-on!’ with the things that fill (and fulfill) my life.  Ive been invited to write on the community blog Writers Rising, which is an absolute honour  :o )

Follows is my first post, but make sure you head on over there and check them out… there is some serious talent to roll around in! And read, of course.
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In the darkness of the closed door and drawn blinds, my face glows in the warmth of the monitor. Its sweet touch tickles my chin, my nose, and my brow before sparkling off my eyes. It’s still late (although maybe now it’s early) and I’m still typing. Finally.

Ive been dying to write now for weeks. But every day the monitor growls at me and falls back to sleep – unenthused with what I offer to the mercy of the keyboard. Its not enough. Once upon a time I toyed with being a ‘writer’. I entertained the notion that I could write always, effortlessly, and continually and maybe, just maybe, make ‘a living’ from my pursuit. But perhaps I was guilty of dividing my attention elsewhere, second-guessing any talent (see what I did there?), and jumping on the merry-perfectionist bandwagon driven by dear old friend, Procrastination. Whichever way, Ive got plenty of excuses lined up as to why Monitor and I do not cooperate more often than we do. Oh but when we do its glorious! But mostly we are a bickering belligerent old couple. And I begin to resign myself to the fact that I can never create nor direct my desire to write… it happens when it happens. And that’s why my title generally reads, ‘Design student slash professional slash model’, more often than ‘Writer’.

I recently visited a life coach. That should sound empowering, but in my control freak/highly self-sufficient mind, to say that aloud is like standing up in a room of equally bedraggled and ashamed faces to say, “I ate an entire box of Tim Tams last night at 1am while everyone else slept”. Everyone has been there, but no-one wants to be brutally honest with a stranger. So as you can imagine, its a little confronting to say the least. Oh don’t get me wrong, aside from the nauseating anxiety thrashing around in the pit of my stomach, my coach is very good(!). But I had much difficulty trying to articulate in words and on paper what my ideal/dream life could have in it. Quite clearly the only thing I knew for certain when he asked me what I would attempt if I knew that everything I did would be enough and perfect was, “Something else”. But I don’t think I even told him that. I thought about how much I tried to squeeze into my life every day and thought, do I really have to write? It takes up so much of time, it doesn’t achieve anything, there are no rewards, benefits, goals or recognition (not by my measuring stick anyway). Had I made a mistake entirely with any pursuit of this vision thus far?

Intense right?

Yet, ultimately the moment I was drawn back to my slightly obsessive and yet truly sporadic jaunts through the land of language, I stopped thinking about all these things. There was only one thing I felt as I poured whatever thoughts I had onto the screen (Im a bit new-fashioned that way, I rarely use a pen). And it was joy. And the screen beckoned me into its purring embrace.

I had stopped measuring my writing by the good old joystick (and Im not talking about circa-1998 Nintendo64). I was looking at the ‘things’ I could get for my efforts, rather than taking the one thing that I knew was guaranteed… Joy. Why would I ever do something I didn’t want to? And similarly, why wouldn’t I do something I enjoyed so much?? It may be sporadic, it may be obsessive, and it may rob me of my sleep at obscure times (she says, dimming the lights on the bedside clock that grin in agreement) but it’s FUN. I work two jobs and study a degree qualification – writing is my solace, my therapist, my meditation and my medication, my joy, and my fun. And I don’t do it for anything else.

My name is Kaye Waterhouse, your newest addition to Writers Rising. I am 25, living in Melbourne, Australia. Quite possibly everything you’ll ever need to know about me, you’ll find

Here; http://www.klarityandkaos.wordpress.com/
Here; http://www.designfits.wordpress.com/

And subsequent entries at Writers Rising. Im thrilled to join you   :o)

K

Gratitude should be a verb

Gratitude should be a verb

Reposted from my entry at Inspiration Unplugged

Gratitude should be a verb, not a noun.

In primary school, we were taught that nouns were ‘people, places, and things’, and verbs were ‘doing’ and ‘action’ words. Sure, the act of ‘expressing’ gratitude is a verb, but gratitude is a constantly evolving and growing and fluctuating process, a unrelenting and desirable internal dialogue with oneself, a feeling of appreciation…. a ‘doing’ word.

An associate on facebook posted the following note the other day;

How can we be happy in the moment we’re in if the world we live is conditioned to make us want more.
How can we feel content in life when we are programmed to need more than is realistically necessary in order to feel bliss.
How do we strip our needs back to basics when people who expect the very thing we despise surround us.
Am I born in the wrong time if all I want is to live in a tree yet need to commercialize to climb it.
Is there a happy medium between having nothing and having too much.
How do we move forward when the destination consumes us so much we no longer like the journey.

…and my answer was so simple I even questioned it myself. Be grateful. And for the following days I thought about what it TRULY meant to be grateful, and what benefits one could see by living in a state of gratitude. It just seemed too simple to my over analytical state of mind!

Gratitude unlocks the fullness of life. It turns what we have into enough, and more. It turns denial into acceptance, chaos to order, confusion to clarity. It can turn a meal into a feast, a house into a home, a stranger into a friend. Gratitude makes sense of our past, brings peace for today, and creates a vision for tomorrow. Melody Beattie

Last week I had to fly to Sydney to work on a new interior design project for the firm. It involved 10 hour days of data collection on workstyles, on my feet carrying a laptop. At the end of each day I was completely exhausted… too exhausted to sit in my hotel room and work on my two uni assignments, due on the day I returned to Melbourne. Over the weekend, I did fly back, late on Friday night and modeled in two days of shoots from 7am until 5pm both Saturday and Sunday before flying back to Sydney on Sunday night.

It really was disastrous. I got sick, and I couldn’t shake the headaches. I lived on caffeine, and I slept poorly. My school work didn’t get done, and everything that could go wrong with technology, taxi’s, getting lost, etc… did. I couldn’t postpone the photoshoot as I had committed to a team (and to be honest I needed the money and the addition to my folio) and I couldn’t turn the Sydney project down as it my first foray into this kind of project work. And knowing that I was missing classes and submission deadlines was doing my perfectionist head in.

But over the days, as I thought about gratitude, and what drove me to do all these things (simultaneously) I realized I was in amazing position. I had a free trip to Sydney all expenses paid, I got to visit my girlfriend in her new city and explore it myself. I got to be a part of an amazing project and push my career professionally. I had secured a lucrative modeling campaign that enabled me to contribute the first of funds to my house deposit, not to mention expand my network, and I was developing an awareness of what my personal priorities were and should be. It was only the flick of a switch, and when people asked how it was going, I started to say ‘interesting!’ instead of ‘exhausting’.

Gratitude turns our problems into lessons and gifts, failures into successes of experience and knowledge, it makes the unexpected into perfect timing, and mistakes into significant events. Gratitude is a mindset easily flipped into a positive state. You can be grateful for the bad things that happen to you as well as the good. You may be cursing that hangover, but alternatively be grateful for the courage those few glasses of wine gave you to chat up that cute person and get their number. I know I was!!   ;)
The act of being grateful rests on choice. YOU choose whether a scenario is a catastrophe, or a beautiful lesson.

A few months ago I started keeping a gratitude journal following a very dark period of existence. I aimed for three things every day that I was grateful for, even if it was as simple as ‘remembering an umbrella on the day that it rained’ or as obvious as ‘getting promoted’. A lot of the time I couldn’t think of three things… its harder than you think. On those days I wrote down what a stranger may be grateful for…. No queues at the supermarket, a warm bed to sleep in for once, a newborn child. These things reminded me that gratitude was specific yet different for every person, and those who had a lot less (in my eyes) actually had more than enough. Even if I couldn’t find my own positive light at the end of the day, I could at least see someone elses.

Its not a new concept, its not even ‘new-age’. Its just pure fact… if you are truly grateful for the activity, state or object, then what you have (or have experienced) is valuable to YOU, and enough. It is simple economics – supply will never meet demand, and the same goes for the human psyche. The more we learn, the more we realise how much we dont know, so there is always that desire reach beyond. The sad thing is most of us will never touch the wall with our outstretched fingers, because we continue to move it further away. The more money we make, the more things we want to buy, the more we see the world, the more we want to travel, the more opportunities that present themselves, the more we take on and the less time we have, and the more successful we are, the more awareness we develop around how more successful we could become. It is a cycle of events that is unrelenting and expands ripple apon ripple, unless we find one thing; gratitude.

I did it! Written Worlds 2010

I did it! Written Worlds 2010

Written Worlds Melbourne was a great success. I tend to ramble but hey, thats ok I guess! I had fun and I got to meet some great people. And I realised how truly passionate I am about my writing and content and how much more Id like to write, so Im setting out to put pen to paper alot more often and maybe turn it into a little job on the side.

I met some people who were truly inspired by what I had to say and told me so afterwards. I was really humbled and flattered that they enjoyed my words and were motivated to write themselves by what they saw on the screen from me. It was awesome!

You can download Part 1 of the Podcast here: http://www.freelancerunplugged.com/ (click on “Podcast” on the right hand side) and then choose Written Worlds Part 1 (and keep an eye out for the next parts!).

University Anxiety

University Anxiety

I can’t pretend that I’m not very afraid. I’m returning to university in two weeks after a summer off, and all I can see in front of my eyes is me on the floor of my study, November last year, surrounded by unfinished work, completely numb and bawling my eyes out. Id smacked into a brick wall and yet again, failed to submit my final assessment. The clincher of such a repetitive activity, is that… I still pull a Distinction… even after flaking out on a submission worth 20% to 30% of my final mark. What does that tell me (aside from the fact that Im an idiot)? That I could do SO much better, but I cant.

I am afraid that school work will be the straw that breaks the camel’s back. I work fulltime, so I cant assume it would ever have been easy, Im not that naïve. But I was accepted into a double degree this year, so I am adding economics, management, accounting, law, and HR policy to my burgeoning workload. The double degree adds two years to my qualification, so for any sense of graduating before I’m due for retirement altogether, I need to increase my study load. To do this, I have dropped one day a week at work, which may sound helpful but in reality, it simply allows me to squeeze all my units into a day… that’s 9 hours of classes. And Im taking a 20% paycut in salary, a kind of stress I don’t need.

Jimmy is wonderful, suggesting that he take up the slack on rent, and he has picked up a second job. Im still modelling and that is still bringing in income, but I’m exceptionally strapped for time, so it’s a little hard to shoot. And you know, it sounds like I don’t want any of this – but I do want to go back to school and learn and graduate and apply my skills every day. I just keep seeing that girl on the floor, hanging onto the chair with white knuckles and wondering why she is there again. Here again.

2010 was supposed to be my year. Yet it just seems more like the year where I hang on for dear life, with my nails, on the bridge, over the river in the ravine.  God I hope I remember how to swim…

To be lost

To be lost

“Have you ever been at sea in a dense fog, when it seemed as if a tangible white darkness shut you in and the great ship, tense and anxious, groped her way toward the shore with plummet and sounding-line, and you waited with beating heart for something to happen? I was like that ship before my education began, only I was without compass or sounding line, and no way of knowing how near the harbor was. “Light! Give me light!” was the wordless cry of my soul, and the light of love shone on me in that very hour”.

                                                                     Helen Keller.

Denial is not a river in Egypt

Denial is not a river in Egypt

I’ve had some interesting comments following the new life of Inspiration Unplugged. Mostly from people who had no idea I was a writer (or blogger, take your pick). I’ve had positive feedback, and that’s kind of nice for someone who never really told anyone about her ‘hobby’. But then I wonder why I’ve never told anybody about something I’ve done all my life? I’ve always been writing, in fact I think I have some sort of obsession with the formation of words. I’m weird, but mind you, so is every other writer out there.

When Im not writing poetry or short stories or sad ramblings or epic twitter & facebook updates (yes, these count!) then Im writing lists, plans, objectives, goals, ideas, introductions, thoughts, quotes and every other little thing that can be on paper or .doc format. I always have done, and notebooks with little ramblings and lists are stacked all over my study, and mostly they don’t make sense. But I need that paper and I need that pen… or my Outlook (in fact Im typing this post into an email as we speak… please tell me somebody else does this!?)

When I was an angst-ridden teen, Id write letters to myself, and to my parents. When I first fell in love I spilled everything onto paper, and when I fell out of love I spilled again. I’ve written hate letters and love letters and poems and short stories and have two of those wonderful little things we called the ‘unfinished novel’. But I’ve never gone, “Hey, I’m a writer”. Ah Kaye but why? I don’t write for a profession, in fact I’m supposed to be a designer, and as a passion I am nowhere near as prolific as some passionate writers. As a rule I generally cant write more than 1000 words… ever, unless its an essay for uni and then well, Im just the Queen of Bullshitting to get to my word count. But I still get really good marks. See? Weird…. And now if I include Inspiration Unplugged, I have a daily planner, three blogs, two twitter accounts, two facebook accounts, a really cute journal, and a university degree to get through. There’s no escaping the truth of the matter – I’m a wr…. wrrrrr… wrrriii

Ive given up trying to pinpoint why I have this word-diarrhoea, my partner thinks its because I have a million cogs turning in my head and the only way to organise them all is to get it out on paper. You’d be surprised how well I sleep after I babbled some useless guff into the notebook on my bedside table. But the more I try to analyse it, the more it doesn’t make any sense, and then I write about my confusion and Im back to square one. Hell, I dont even know if Im any GOOD, maybe you folks are just being nice, but Im pretty sure that Ive worked out that I enjoy doing it. So these days I just go with the flow. Sometimes I won’t write for months, and then write non-stop for a week… it’s just how I do it. In truth, if I was a professional writer, I’d be fired.

So when the crew behind the scenes at Freelancer Unplugged put me forward as a speaker on the panel at the Written Worlds event, I thought I was going to hyperventilate. I truly said to myself, “But Im not a writer!”. But what am I doing now? Writing about it.

Again, Weird.

Im trying not to think about that event too much, yes granted most of the time you cannot get me to shut up, but in front of a room of 50 people?? There’s that voice again, “But Im not a speaker! And what’s worse, I have to speak about writing, and Im not a writer!”. Its enough to give any writer a heart attack.

Written Worlds Event – Melbourne

Letting people go

Letting people go

Jimmy’s grandma died on Wednesday. Bless her soul, at 93 she was still living on her own and self-caring; such a woman to admire, a mother, grandmother, and great grandmother. Early afternoon, she was weeding the garden in her yard when she collapsed, found by the neighbour who called for an ambulance that rushed her to the local hospital. With a heartbeat, and breathing, they tried to make her regain consciousness to no avail. Anna told me that she died how she (and probably most people) have ever wanted…. ‘you couldn’t have written a better script’. There was no riddling of cancer, or horrific accident, or slow hospitalised wasting away. Just a sudden bright flash, and a massive stroke, collapsing with a handful of weeds clutched in her palm. The doctors doubted that she knew what was happening, the stroke was so severe it dominated her brain scans. Life support was switched off that evening, surrounded by the whole family.

And it got me thinking (as any death does) while I was standing by her side. She was such an institution in the family, and to see her entire family gathered around to grieve is possibly the most beautiful thing I have ever witnessed to date. It may sound strange to call such a spectacle ‘beautiful’, but these were people I had never seen cry before…. The shock of mortality had drawn everyone into a stunning web of love and support. The tears, while sad and longing, still spoke of a woman they all admired so much. In the waiting room, after the computers and life support systems went black and her heart beat began to fade away, there was laughter. They began to share stories about how strong she was, her uncanny character traits, and the fact that her Grandson, far away, was preparing to be a father for the first time, and grandma was simply making room for the next little addition to her kingdom, another great grandchild. They shared stories about her life, and how she chose this death, and they made plans to share the news with the world. Everyone was so organised amongst the grief. I wasn’t sure if it was because of her age (every extra year was a gift) or that was how they grieved, but I watched in wonder at this amazing family dynamic. The usually quiet family members took charge, the ‘rocks’ of the family broke down and let the pain go. And I wondered how my family would ever cope with such a thing…. time will, unfortunately, tell. I can only hope the passing of any of my eldest family members will be just as beautiful, surrounded by those you love, who can kiss your softened face goodbye, happy in the knowledge that there was no suffering, and only a celebration of life.

Here’s to Grandma Dot.  xx

Aerial departures.

Aerial departures.

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Its so beautiful down there; miles and miles of hot scorched land, peppered by trees and carved by property lines. The salt plains, dried out dams, and parched grass spread out across a fawn coloured patchwork in an intricate tapestry of earth.

I knew it was a hard life down there, sparse and unrelenting, but I wanted to be as close as possible. Nose pressed to the glass, it had quickly become my favourite part of the whole cross continental journey. I wanted to take a photo but gave up on the idea – nothing was going to capture my sense of awe, and my measly camera would not portray the depth and vastness of my field of vision.

I swallowed the lump in my throat but it rose again. Its not the way I wanted to leave, but if it had to be that way, then so be it. There are some things you have to fight for, and others that you let go.

New Years Resolutions – The ol’ Cliche

New Years Resolutions – The ol’ Cliche

Easily the most blogged topic on January first? Well I waited for one on my compatriots to allude to New Years Resolutions on Inspiration Unplugged, but nothing happened! Im not sure if they’re not the resolution type, or if its been so hounded by mass media that its become a dirty word. Every chemist I drive past has specials on quit smoking packs and slim-fast shakes. My old gyms (yes, I have several) send me promotional material on helping me to conquer my resolution for weight loss. Wait, I have a resolution for weight loss?!

Oh its been an interesting year. Ive made lots of new friends, and gently extradited those who broke the rules. Ive had doors opened wide professionally, and waited for things that never eventuated. I made resolute choices that I never followed through, and things happened that Id never planned. And yet TwentyTen arrives, as much as I tried to slow its approach. I love the New Years & Christmas period because it means I spend time with those I love, work falls quiet, and it gives me a chance to pause and reflect on the year that has been. Looking back is as important as looking forward. Im not big on the making of new years resolutions ON new years eve, but I have goals, and I think that this time of year is the perfect opportunity to reassess them. The first few weeks of January are my quietest… so off I go.

I think people dont make new years resolutions, or pass them off as rubbish, because year after year they fail to meet them, and the next year they find themselves wanting that elusive ambition from the year before. Everyone has goals and ambitions and dreams, no matter how big or small. Perhaps they view resolutions as a waste of time, as something else that gets in the way and is inevitably failed, so why set yourself up to seek immediate gratification when all you’ll get is immediate loss? Herein lies the problem to why people never achieve the things they dream of; Buying that house, travelling, losing weight, quitting smoking, salsa classes (that one is my own). Some people make their resolution …and they naturally don’t follow through, but it isn’t about counting down to midnight then deciding what you will do for the next year (or your life). Those ‘new years eve resolutions’ are goals that we have set with no thought put into them.

REAL New Years resolutions (or whatever we decide to call them) take time to conceive… you cannot simply want the change to happen and it comes true… Goals are not achieved by your fairy godmother. They are reached through eons of hard work and perseverance. And yes, you may go off track, lose motivation, but you will never fail. You can never fail to quit smoking… because as long as you are smoking – you have the ability to quit!

Maybe people struggle because they’re CALLED resolutions? You’ve resolved to do something and suddenly that’s it? Not bloody likely. Don’t think for a second that just because you have a resolution, that the hard part is over. Maybe we should rename the whole concept. Why do people plan on eating a healthy diet and then fail? Because they made a resolve, not a goal. Goals are S.M.A.R.T (yes, you’ve probably all heard that before, but its TRUE!). If you cant cook, then learn. If your cupboard is full of crap… clear it out before you start. Plan recipes, shopping lists, packed lunch etc. Don’t make excuses, make a plan.

And you have to understand that your goals are allowed to change, you have permission to change your mind, change your plan, change the track. What you want now may not be what you want in 6 months time and that’s ok. As long as you are still reaching for them, they can be anything you want whenever you want. Have yourself a mid-year NYE shindig, and set your goals again. Or take some time off to regroup… refocus.

So i think new years resolutions are fabulous if the time and effort are put into them. Hell, if you want, you don’t have to think of anything until April! Its still a resolution/goal. You don’t just ‘come up’ with something and hope for the best – you put the wheels in motion to get it. Lose weight? Personal trainer, gym membership, training partner, get a dog, cancel your parking on the 1st floor and go to the 8th floor and take the stairs. Get off the bus 3 stops too early and walk the rest. Whatever! just make a plan before you make the resolution.

And so i hear all this talk about goals for 2010, in the media, in advertising, online and from my friends, and slowly in my head i am working mine out. Ive got resolutions for travel, work, school, and personal fulfillment. That part is easy because Im one of the lucky ones who know what they want… the hard part is planning how to get there, and how to tackle the obstacles when they (certainly) come. How are yours going? Hit me up if you’d like help, I’ve been doing them for oh, I don’t know… 15 years?! and I’ve made some mistakes I fortunately wont repeat, and some otherwise awesome progress.

And um……. know any good Salsa classes?? Happy New Year.

Non est ad astra mollis e terris via – There is no easy way from the earth to the stars

Inspiration

Inspiration

Having been an avid participator in Freelancer Unplugged, a networking forum for freelancers of all professions, I was asked to co-author an Inspiration blog, where all my worldly thoughts could have a home (as well as on my K&K blog). It’s a wee bit of an honour, to be asked to contribute to something that will ultimately help other people by talking about things that Ive been through socially, professionally, and emotionally. Especially when for the most part I just consider them personal ramblings. Its not until someone says to you, ‘Oh hey, I read your last blog post and it made me cry’. That shit really makes you go ‘wow’, its amazing how a few words can affect someone, especially when you are telling the story of their own life and you haven’t even realised it.
Feel free to check it out… and be inspired!!

www.inspirationunplugged.com

Disease of the heart

Disease of the heart

There are rare times, when the one you love becomes a demon leech attached to your soul. She sucks you dry of your faith, your trust, your compassion, and your self-respect. The more she takes, the more you love her, because if she goes you will die.

Servo Permaneo Bovis Provestri ~ “Save the Last Bullet for Yourself”

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DISEASE OF THE HEART -  © Kaye Waterhouse 2009

At dawn she finds me
Floating in a dark ocean
The heat curling from my toes
The cool rivulets running across my chest
She asks
Why am I in the bath at dawn

She forgets
About a time in the night
When she told me I was filth
When she spat words at me
And the ice whispers singed my skin

The hate floats on the surface
An oil slick of grime and patronising spit
She kneels and drags her fingers through the oil
I watch
The hand slip across my leg
With its wake of contradiction

She asks why
I take her hand from the water
And hold it to the cool air
To wash her from the excess of my lust
And my disgust.
She knows
I am protecting her from herself.

On being ‘Outdoorsy’

On being ‘Outdoorsy’

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Something quite unusual has happened in the past year, and I’ve suddenly picked up on it after returning from the weekends’ hike.

As my life gets more and more crazy, my desire for simple pleasures gets greater and greater. The more I work 12 hour days, study till dawn, and take on freelancing modelling & design projects on the side, the more I want silence. Normal right? Sure. But where do I find it? 3 hours drive plus 9 hours/25 kilometres of hiking away!

I remember always camping as a kid. Mum and Dad would spend a few days packing up the 4WD, then we’d roll (in convoy with other families, or on our own) to the varying reaches of Western Australia; Augusta, Albany, Kalbarri, Pemberton, Denmark, Lancelin, Dongara, Binningup, Payne’s Find, Coral Bay, Exmouth, Monkey Mia, Geraldton, Shark Bay…. and all the little towns in between. The car would be full of portable CD players, cd’s, books, gameboys, lollies & chips, pushbikes, siblings, and sometimes the dogs. Every school holidays, we’d be off somewhere for a weekend, week, or two… and it was great! But as I got older, I wanted less tents and more caravans, then less caravans and more hotels, then less driving and more flying. Until eventually I phased the whole camping thing out. When I moved out of home, I spent most of my time with people who had never ‘camped’ – and who had no interest in it. And I’d never really appreciated the value in it anyway, even when it vanished as a pastime.

Just after I’d moved to Melbourne in 2007, a group of us decided it would be cool to drive to Lakes Entrance to camp. NONE of us had any camping equipment whatsoever, we borrowed it all, and most of our food was actually er, alcohol. I was handed a tiny tent, and was the first to set it up… I was so proud! I even took a photo with my phone and sent it to my mum haha.
I remember how broke I was then, but we still had so much fun…. disrupting the town and the campsites. That was my little reminder to me… I didn’t need trashy nightclubs, 3am taxi’s and 4am kebabs to feel alive and to disconnect myself from the chaotic world.

A few months into dating Jim, he invited me down the Wilsons Prom for a weekend away. We loaded up the old Cortina with Jims archaic and well used collection of hand me down camping gear, along with a canoe, and drove the three and a half hours to the southernmost point of the Australian mainland. It was winter, it was freezing, and it rained. And I had possibly the best weekend ever. Jimmy said that I passed the ultimate test… I knew how to pitch a tent. We brought the very best wine with us, and sat under the verandah in the rain, drinking by candle light and telling stories, before curling up under a pile of doonas and having an amazing early sleep, waking to a dawn of kookaburras, wombats shuffling by, and visiting rosellas. Then we took the canoe out onto the inlet, laid back and listened to nothing but the waves lapping against the hull. There was never anything so quiet. And I think I got hooked again. Thankfully these days we take the X-trail down… it’s a lot more comfortable for over 3 hours of driving.

Our next trip down was with massive packs. Jim had talked me into my first hike… a 12 kilometre overnight hike to Oberon Bay. I made a video of my struggle – its on my Facebook. It was very funny, and very hard work. But there was a strange sense of achievement, that I had walked that far, over, up and down granite hill faces, spent the night listening to the waves on the shore, and then hiked back in the morning. It was a physical barrier I had never pushed before. Sure, I work out, I ride my bike sometimes, and I go to the gym… but when you’re hiking you don’t have any choice, you cant just stop and go home. You cant take a shower, or crash on the couch… You just have.to.keep.going. I pushed through until it didn’t hurt anymore. Oh don’t get me wrong though… two days later I could barely walk, but I knew that I had achieved something pretty awesome.

We’ve been camping a few more times since then, and Ive started asking for it more and more. Jimmy still laughs when I get down there, the campsite is set up, the food is cooking, the wine is open… and Im standing in front of him asking what we should do next. ‘How about nothing?’. But I can’t do NOTHING!? Are you crazy!? I have to do something!!! It always takes me a little while to realise that there is nothing that needs doing… it’s supposed to be that way. Our list of achievements for the day might read; kick the football on the beach, and walk up to the lookout.

Now back to my 25km saga. Jimmy had begged to go hiking again and I’d agreed. He didn’t tell me that the trip was 25 kilometres, fortunately for him, I didn’t find out the distance until we’d returned. And so we set off from Melbourne at 9.30am, arriving in Tidal River (Wilsons Prom) by 12.30pm. We could see it had been raining, and the sky was a heavy grey, but the air was fairly warm. We started off at 1, glad to know that wearing shorts and singlets paid off, as we watched other hikers peeling off jackets and beanies from the heat of the hike. 4 hours later we arrived at Little Waterloo Bay, a secluded grove of trees and sheltered campsites, wedged between a steep rock face, and the beach. Thankfully, all the hiking destinations have toilets! We found a well-drained, gently sloping spot under some trees, set up tent and cooked our dinner… ravioli, pasta sauce, tuna, chickpeas, and vegies.. oh it tasted so good with our bottle of red! Then it started to rain so we piked early. And it rained and rained and rained…. and rained… nonstop till dawn. We awoke dry and free from mosquito bites (yay for the new hiking tent!) but very very sore. We’d forgotten the inflatable mattress, only packing the high density foam. Ohhh the pain. And the rain wouldn’t stop… it drizzled… incessantly. Our dry clothes were soon wet as we packed up all our gear, but our situation was infinitely better than the foolish people who had opted for the flat piece of ground which you, by taking one look at it, could tell regularly flooded. We walked past their tents and they were almost 10-15cms underwater! The poor bastards were standing around like drowned cats, looking very very upset. Packing up, we began the hike back and I somehow found the strength to push through the pain and climb all those damn hills! It drizzled non stop and we were soaked through, rain dripped off my hat, and my shoes squelched from the water and mud inside them. My back muscles burned and I had shin splints but we kept on going, the sand in my shoes rubbed against my wet socks and blisters formed on my heels. But I was determined to make it back in better time than it had taken us to get there. We got back to the overnight carpark by 3.30pm, and we were back in Melbourne by 6.30pm. Thanks to the car heating, we had thawed, and both of us had taken turns having a nap. We’d stripped off the wet clothes and jumped into our spares… next time we might take lightweight raincoats though hehe, and remember our inflatable mats. And we’re going to buy hiking boots, instead of sneakers whose delightful ‘ventilation’ panels let in a lot of water!

Aside from the landscape being incredibly beautiful ESPECIALLY during the low light and the drizzling rain, there was something completely uplifting about the whole experience. We hiked for maybe half an hour at a time without saying a word, all you could hear was the soil crunching, birds, and the ocean far away. And once you can push beyond the pain, your mind drifts elsewhere… sometimes I thought about work, and school, and relationships and money… you have a lot of thinking time out there! But other times it was blank. Blank, but not lost… just calm. And I’d study the water dripping off the eucalyptus leaves, or the bullants charging up to the giant humans with all the bravado of ancient Knights of King Arthur. There were birds and lizards and wombats… and kilometres of views to swoon over, but most importantly there was nothing but us and the knowledge that we were completely isolated from a world of ‘perceived’ troubles. It all kind of washed away with the rain. And if it wasn’t raining, it would have dried away in the sun. And if there was no sun, it would have burned away through our perseverance. We had no choice but to push on, and that drew all our focus into a gorgeous little vortex where nothing really mattered… at all.

Jimmy turned to me at the end of the hike and could see the pain on my face. He asked me, “Would you do that again?” I said,
“Definitely”.
Now we’re planning our next one…. three days and 36 kilometres. I’ll need some rest first! But I can’t wait. It’s a pretty healthy thing to get addicted to I think…

Fashion Shoot – Nov 14th

Fashion Shoot – Nov 14th

POW. I just worked with the most amazing team! After ridiculous amounts of facebook correspondence, sample themes, fittings, reference images etc etc, we finally met on the weekend to create some fantastic shots.

9am till 5pm we worked, multiple outfit, hair, and makeup changes.

Id just like to say how professional, dedicated, passionate, and cohesive the team was!
Stylist: Desiree McPhee @ Styleid
Hair: Ross Joseph
Make up: Shella Ruby
Photographer: Vendula Pribylova
Model: Kaye (me!)

Just a sample;


Old Blogs – May 19th 2009

Old Blogs – May 19th 2009

I cant believe I almost went…

That International Phonecall
Tuesday, May 19, 2009 at 12:33pm

These past few days, the world has slowed. And warped. And my brain has nearly fallen out of my ears with the intensity of information Ive had to process.
The weekend just passed, marking my two year anniversary of living in Melbourne.
It was also my one year anniversary of being (blissfully) with Jimmy and, our Housewarming party.

And on Monday morning, I arrived at work in Melbourne to a new job option… in London.
Are you serious? Yes- Absolutely completely serious. A role had become available in the UK, and they were looking to fill the vacancy internally. And my skillset is perfect. I cleared it with my Regional Talent and Training Manager, and put in my expression of interest.

And they came back to me!
I was the only internal person who put their hand up. I was as good as gone, once the obligatory videoconference internal interview was done, and the HR paperwork sorted, and provided I could get my visa and flights sorted asap… they need me there in 4 weeks time (!), and would put me up in accommodation until I could find my own place. Someone would meet me at the airport, and there would be a two week handover from the exiting staff member. I would be there for 1 year on a maternity leave contract, but had access to an ancestry VISA so could essentially stay for ages if I decided to. Jimmy and I talked it over, and he would even come with me, joining me after a few months, once I was set up. It was a dream come true. To further my career AND travel.

So then… I turned it down.

I mouth those words when I type it. I.turned.it.down.

WOW.

I thought about it. I wrote about it. I talked about it. I cried about it incessantly because I couldn’t stand the internal pressure in my head to make the goddam decision.

Why? Because right now, Im actually happy. My role mightn’t be perfect right now but that is only a small part of all the pieces that have fallen into place. I have a solid mapped career path, I have a stunning boy to come home to, a stunning house to come home to, a degree that Im acing, I live a decadent lifestyle where I can almost do and buy what I want, and I have a solid group of friends. The same unrest and resentment that sent me on that last minute flight from Perth to Melbourne two years ago doesn’t exist anymore. Sure I want to travel, but I don’t want to do it this way. I don’t want Jimmy to give up the job that he is doing so well at, or to sell the car he loves, or to give up the house we only just ‘warmed’! I don’t want to have a going-away party only 4 weeks after the moving-in one I just had!, and I don’t want to spend 3 months in London without him. I don’t want to live in a share house on the bones of my ass on the outskirts in London because I wouldn’t be able to afford anything else, and spent 70% of my time in inner city London writing tenders and bidding for architecture work.

Maybe I’ll do it in a year. Who knows. Maybe I’ll study overseas instead, or just backpack. Doesnt matter. I’ll go, but now isn’t the right time. Why, when Ive just properly patched all the holes in my leaky boat, would I rock it? Im not going to go just because the opportunity is there – it’s got to be just right.

And right now, Im staying put. And Im really happy I made that decision :o )

Thats a wrap

Thats a wrap

Bali was a-MAZING. I cannot believe I haven’t had a real holiday in 5 years… I shall never leave it that long again! Jim and I are already talking about the next little trio of Vietnam, Cambodia & Laos!

It was 7 days of cocktails, sunshine, shopping, exploring, awesome food, nightlife, sunsets, cuddles, sand, adventures…

and 3 days of Bali Belly. But I can still say IT WAS WORTH IT. We stayed in Nusa Dua, which was a very good idea because I found Kuta too feral. The locals weren’t as nice and there were too many drunk foreigners stumbling around in the middle of the day. Id rather stay in Nusa again, or Seminyak. And Ubud is definitely a must for anyone.

Just SOME pics;









Wherever you are…

Wherever you are…

love Pictures, Images and Photos

Dream.
I realised today that my heart will always lie in two places. I awoke from the weirdest yet most beautiful dream, in which I found myself face to face with a man I once loved. His new girlfriend was by his side and Jimmy was by mine. A silent understanding passed between us, in the way that we always could speak a million words … through the eyes.
I smiled at his girlfriend, and introduced myself, happily chatting about the day, while he quietly observed. For whatever reason, I knew they were very much in love, and it was ok. I think he was a little taken aback, but gradually warmed to the pleasant scenario that seemed to be unfolding. I wrapped my arm around jimmy’s waist, brought him into the fold of conversation, and they shook hands.
There was something very peaceful about the dynamic that flowed between us. Almost like an energy that linked all four of us in a place outside of time. He could see quite clearly, the person I had evolved into, and the quality of the man in my life, and it made him happy. And I could see that he was loved and in love, and it made my heart swell.
When I woke up this morning, I knew that while my heart and my love belongs to Jimmy (now, and for a very long time), I will always care for that man in my past. I will always wish the greatest dreams and happiness for him. While I wont miss the relationship, the two of us seemed never destined to be together as the people we were, I will always miss him as the lovely person he is as a companion, and a friend. And that is why my heart will always be there for him, in a place locked in history. Side by side without competition, with the ever growing adoration that I have for my Jimmy. One part will never quash the other, as they are not the same, but two different types of love – one in my past, one for my future.

Dear Racegoing Female;

Dear Racegoing Female;

Dear Racegoing Female,
I only hope today that you have thought of several things;
If you have to think about the colour of your undies, just in case someone might see them when you sit down, uncross your legs etc… then that is NOT a modest hemline. This is not a nightclub, this is a fashion institution, you can be incredibly sexy with a hemline just above the knee.
If it looks like the saturation levels on your digi camera have been turned right up, you picked the wrong colour fake tan, and should fire your beautician. A fake tan is not just a fake tan, it is a wax, an exfoliation, and a thick slathering of moisturiser… THEN the tan on top. Leave the domination of oompa loompa land to Willy Wonka.
Fascinators should fascinate. Hats are not an afterthought, and will make or break your outfit. Sure, make it yourself ONLY and ONLY if you know what you are doing.
If if you think (even for a second) that those killer heels are going to be your arch nemesis by this evening… dont wear them in the first place! The only thing that shits me the most is stillettos slung over your shoulder and bare feet. Harden up, or wear flats. You are putting our sex to shame by stumbling aroound in pretty pink toenail polish and crusty dirty feet.

Thank you, have a lovely day, and please make a concerted effort to see at least one horse belting around the track :o )

Kaye

The Spring Buzz

The Spring Buzz

Alright well Im pretty excited… so excited that I think I might wee myself.

Aside from the fact that I am shooting with Terence Bogue this weekend (who I absolutely adore – see post below about his latest exhibition), I am engaged to consult on the interiors for luxury townhouses in the upper-class Melbourne suburb of Brighton, and my first site visit is this Sunday. The film I acted in is released in 6 weeks (if editing goes to schedule) and Ive just applied to upgrade my Interior Design degree at Swinburne to a double degree in Design & Business. Not only that, but I fly out to Bali on Monday for my first holiday in over 5 years… and 1 week after I get back, I fly to Perth for my dad’s 50th birthday!

Its all crazy busy in this neck of the woods but as my mum would say, this family doesn’t have it any other way!

So I’m very excited and a little apprehensive about this design consult, it will be my first time working with this client and I’m not sure yet of the brief or extent of the works required (hope to have this all answered on Sunday). The upside is that the commission is hourly so if the scope changes, so can my fee! We have our first meeting on site on Sunday, where I’ll determine the extent of the brief, outputs and timeframe, and his own aspirations of course. The townhouses are aiming for market presence by late November/early December so it’s a short sharp response time (sigh – so strapped for time with bali and Perth in between!). I’m breaking it down to four stages with project control points so that we don’t get off track or blow budget; Site visit & client briefing, Research & Brief Development, Conceptualisation & Prelim Proposal, and Final Proposal.

It’s a very small piece of work for a development that is 9/10ths complete, but it is very exciting nonetheless! Its times like these that I am extremely grateful that I work in the architecture & design industry as well as study Interior Design, as I find myself every moment using more knowledge from my day to day work experiences than anything I have learnt in class! The hardest part is to not get too far ahead of myself, and keep out the million-odd ideas that are bustling for attention before I even see the site!

I’ll keep you updated as to how it goes. x

Quarter Century… and all that Jazz

Quarter Century… and all that Jazz

Ok so Ive officially slipped out of the 18-24 bracket… and into the next quarter of my century.
Ladies and Gentlemen… I am 25!

At 25 you start thinking about getting a real job with a future, not waiting tables. You wonder how you are going to get a house. Should you start saving or something… how does one do that? You are happy and healthy, but maybe you party too much. You buy an iPhone then say why did I just spend so much money on a device that’s about to be outdated?. You start sucking at video games. You start dressing better and you don’t get as many traffic tickets. You try to grow a plant but it dies. You’re on the cusp of acting like a young adult, but still have frequent lapses of judgement (though thankfully less than before). You wish you could take back all those times you didn’t want to nap when you were a kid – because now you’re always some kind of tired. You watch the same movies you watched when you were younger and can finally see all the drug/sex/cult references as clear as day. You find yourself starting sentences with ‘The youth of today…’ and you start to groan when you stand up from kneeling. You start going to festivals ‘just for the music’. You find it harder to decipher the difference between boredom and hunger. You keep some people’s phone numbers in your phone just so you know not to answer when they call. You tend to say OMG, LOL, and WTF a lot less. Your insurance premiums, excess, and age-levy all go down…you can even rent a sports car! You start to convert the cost of all your shoes into a percentage of a deposit on a house/car/boat. You get a side of salad with your parmi at the pub, instead of chips. You now know there are more varieties of wine than ‘red and white’ and you buy bottles, not casks. And you can now maintain intelligent (and interesting!) conversations with your parents… And yet, you’re still despised by the 30-somethings every time you mention your age… Its a tough life…

Sunday May 18th, 2008

Sunday May 18th, 2008

Written over a year ago…The day after my 1 year anniversary celebrations in Melbourne … and that was the night I met my Jimmy….
And he called me the very next day :)

IM SO PROUD OF ME.
_______________________________________________________

I sit here in the aftermath of last nights house party. Im hungover as fuck, but ridiculously content. Momentous occasions like these tend to give rise to contemplation…

Holy shit. One year. One year ago I sat alone in a room in Prahran. I was tired, emotionally drained, and in shock. I had just gotten off the plane, with a suitcase of clothes (but no warm jumpers). Hell, I got on a plane without a plan, no money, one (almost maxed out) credit card, no job to go to, and no real idea of where (or how) I might live. I took a massive risk, at a time when I was probably classified as emotionally unstable.

And look at me now! I dance, drink, party, love, laugh, see, do, breathe, eat, play, work and live all that is Melbourne – and all it has to offer. I show my friends and family around my city, and they can see for themselves how it has affected me… Im successful….and Im having a damn good time!

Though I should probably lay off the Tequila… shooters are fun but damn theyre dangerous! hehe but hey, at least I outlasted a certain housemate who passed out at 8.45pm (outlasted him by nearly 8 more hours!)

Its 2008 – and its MY year.

Drugs Are Nice

Drugs Are Nice

An old blog entry of mine from August 28th, 2008

“After our last breakup, Andrew goes off to live in the forest and work on this 33rd soundwave-emitter that only aliens can hear. Why he wants to communicate with space creatures, I dont know. Id be scared to be out there in the woods, sending out intergalactic invites to a party where only one of the attendees would be human. I guess, objectively, I have to say Andrew is crazy. But Andrew always does what he wants, what he believes, while millions of other people never do, even once in their lives. Its too hard. And they dont give you health insurance for that – for living your dream. Andrew is brave and odd, and I do appreciate that – from afar. Every time he’s near, I get so hostile. I guess I want all the bravery for me.”
Drugs Are Nice – Lisa Crystal Carver

Ive taken to reading alot lately. Losing myself in fucked up worlds. This book is particularly good. Her world is particularly fucked up. And its a true story.
Im dropping into Mag Nation and oggling the rows and rows of design publications, Im enthusiastically studying my uni readings, learning all that I can absorb. Im re-reading the books on my shelves. Im devouring words like a starving child, and regurgitating ideas onto page like that child, fed too quickly.
Im writing alot lately too. I cant concentrate on my work. My desk is littered with sketches and scrawled post it notes and drafts of ideas and concepts and quotes and readings. Maybe that is why Im pumping out the stories on my laptop, why the facebook notes come thick and fast. A million thoughts and ideas stream through my conscious, like Im feeling my way through a fog of words. And its the best feeling in the world.

Today, it is 2 years since I broke up with Luca. So much time has passed. Even how I came to remember this fact was purely by accident. Every now and then I wonder how he is or what he is up to these days, but mostly not at all. Im so SO very proud of myself – where I am, who I am, where Ive been, the life I live, and the people I have in it. Im even proud of the shit I dragged my sorry ass through, because of it I am infinitely wiser, stonger, more determined, more focussed. And Im having fun! I spent one long sad year wading around in a black hole of depression, self pity and denial, 6 months Perth, 6 months Melbourne. Then a further 6 months working out what I wanted from my life, who the hell I was as an adult (believe it or not, I actually didnt know) and appreciating all those things Id always taken for granted. As I eclipsed my one year anniversary in Melbourne, I fell in love again. And a few more months on now, and I dont recognise myself in the mirror – I am nothing like that messy unstable state of affairs that boarded a plane in May 2007. I dont punch that mirror, instead I take a twirl and admire what I have created for myself. All the wonderful things I have now, would not have come my way until I learnt to change the things I would not accept, accept the things I could not change, learn, grow. Become.

Time to celebrate? Indeed. I have much to celebrate; Great job, great house, great boy, great health, great friends, great family, great degree, great city. I owe Melbourne alot.

“…I examine the situation as I shower and dress for the first time in three days. Maybe all the dumb-looking stuff we do is really smart. If it werent for my dumb problems (and his), we wouldnt have created these shows, we wouldnt always travel, we wouldnt have so many funny stories to tell. Having an unfillable hole inside is a great catalyst. Youre always trying new things to fill it. People with holes look good! Look ready for action. But then sometimes your home alone, and there’s nothing new to try, and there the hole still is. “Hey”, it growls, poking you from the inside, “Im still hungry”. I get tired of it! And now, here, I fear Jean Louis is getting tired of it, too – of my hole, which Im beginning to think is a little bigger, a little hungrier, then his. Other times I think there’s no hole at all – Im simply happy and in love, and I just cant stand to see myself as simple or the same as other people, so I make up all these complications.”
Drugs Are Nice – Lisa Crystal Carver
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‘Shifted’ Exhibition – Terence Bogue

‘Shifted’ Exhibition – Terence Bogue

.
Review in todays The Age on an exhibition by Terence Bogue (featuring me as the model!) He creates such beautiful imagery and is such a lovely lovely person to work with!

Grabbing our attention
September 23, 2009
The Age

…….

Other photographers identify something stunningly beautiful. Terence Bogue captures it with mastery at Shifted. His images of a woman’s shoulder blades and hand remind me of the classics of American photography. But his tender marble-like pictures also have an austere touch of Canova, silky but statuesque, sensual but chaste. Under the title The Itch, the sense of anecdote and perhaps erotic temptation arrives at iconic tranquillity.

…….




Terence Bogue

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Dear You

Dear You

I could say that I’ll always be here for you,
But that would be a lie and quite a pointless thing to do,
I could says that I’ll always have feelings for you
but i’ve got a life ahead of me, I’m only 22,

Since you’ve gone I’ve lost a chip on my shoulder,
Since you’ve gone I feel like I’ve gotten older,
And now you’ve gone it feels as if the whole wide world is my stage
And now you’ve gone it’s like I’ve been let out of my cage,

You always made it clear that you hated my friends,
You made me feel so guilty when I was running around with them,
And everything was always about being cool,
And now I’ve come to realise there’s nothing cool about you at all,

Since you’ve gone I’ve lost a chip on my shoulder,
Since you’ve gone I feel like I’ve gotten older,
And now you’ve gone it feels as if the whole wide world is my stage
And now you’ve gone it’s like I’ve been let out of my cage

Since you’ve gone I’ve lost a chip on my shoulder,
Since you’ve gone I feel like I’ve gotten older,
And now you’ve gone it feels as if the whole wide world is my stage
And now you’ve gone it’s like I’ve been let out of my cage

~ Lily Allen

Thank you for ripping yourself from my world (quite grandly I might add), and allowing myself to find Me. Without that loss I wouldn’t have grown, learnt, changed, evolved, and fallen in love with the person I am (and should have always become if I hadn’t lived beneath your shadow). It was never your intention to throw darkness across us, in fact I switched off the light most times myself to hide safe with you, but always we lived in limbo between two strange places. Oddly I am grateful for the ache, the sorrow, and other such gifts you gave me…. because, well, just look at Me. You even said it yourself, many months later by lonely text message “…You have matured into a beautiful person…” Everything I lacked as a person, I gained by losing you. Thank you always.

Musings

Musings

I am decidedly one of those people who has so many options in front of them that they want to do them all.
Opportunity lies before me, there is so much knowledge that I have access to, and people who could help me get there, and I don’t want to miss out on a thing. I want to try everything once, and see or do things that open my eyes. I want to take on more, go places, be someone, do envious things.

I worked 70 hours last week.

Time to turn down some opportunities!

Before they turn me into a shell, incapable of all the things I mentioned above.

Is it possible that life could be TOO good?

HDC005 Contemporary Design Issues, Winter Term 2009

HDC005 Contemporary Design Issues, Winter Term 2009

6. How are the short and medium term needs of refugees being addressed by contemporary designers? Explain with reference to 3 examples serving the needs of displaced people during political upheaval or natural disasters

The number of people displaced by natural disaster and political upheaval is on the rise. In 2008, the figure stood at 42 million for those forcibly uprooted by persecution and conflict, and of this number, 80% were considered to live in developing or ‘third-world’ countries (UNHCR, 2009). And this figure does not take into account those forced from their home by natural disasters; floods, earthquakes, and the like. The US Dept of Homeland Security for example, estimated that more than 800,000 people were made homeless after Hurricane Katrina (Wortham, 2007). Across the globe, humanitarian effort is desperately seeking to find faster and more cost effective methods for housing these populations both during displacement, and also once they return to rebuild their nations, by socially and environmentally sustainable means.

The challenges that lie before our contemporary designers are almost as numerous as those that burden the refugees themselves. There are cultural barriers and geographical isolation barriers, a distinct lack of materials and resources (or high costs associated with sourcing) and access to basic necessities including power and water can be heavily restricted. The most effective emergency shelters “make use of inexpensive, readily available materials, and require minimum tools for a quick build” (Wortham, 2007). But designers must design not only provide shelter and safety, but fight disease, educate, locate loved ones and reunite families, and create a sense of community solidarity. There is an ethical obligation to build with environmentally sustainable initiatives, and a moral obligation to rebuild not only houses, medical centres, and schools, but homes and communities.

In recent years, there has been ever increasing discussions on what constitutes a safe and inclusive environment for displaced people, and how the people themselves adapt to temporary housing. We’ve been encouraged to rethink how we provide humanitarian building aid, and the longevity of the communities that develop. Cameron Sinclair of Architecture for Humanity (AFH), in his interview with Paula Antonelli in 2005, stated that “You have to be really part of the community. The way that we have always tried to work has been as an equal partnership between the community and the designer”. There has been a gradual shift in focus from meeting the short term needs of refugees in ad-hoc tent-villages, to the design of transitional housing, that is, shelters that can become homes, and have the durability to form the foundations of a new life for occupants.

Non-profit organisation ‘Architecture for Humanity’, in conjunction with regulatory bodies such as the United Nations council, have been exploring these concepts since its inception in 1999. One of AFH’s ideals, is that in building for refugees and the homeless; “Designs that are scalable, built using local materials or can also be used as core housing – as a hub for basic services like sanitation, communication, supplies – that basic dose of shelter, are key” (Stohr, 2006). In Stohr’s book, Design Like You Give A Damn, she goes on to say that “houses that use local materials – helping revitalise economic development – are particularly useful”. Therefore it is imperative that the reconstruction of communities begins at this ground level, to encourage the long term stability of the culture or people. Unfortunately in some instances, using the indigenous skills of the displaced, or local resources, are not always possible, be it a cause of natural disaster, or segregation from a mainstream economy, such as in civil war.

Japanese architect Shigeru Ban, tested his ‘Paper log’ sustainable shelters in Japan in 1994, after a series of earthquakes destroyed housing for hundreds of thousands. Ban’s philosophy centred around the accessibility of materials, speedy and economically viable construction, and the environmental impact of material selection, but he also placed great emphasis on the potential beauty in such buildings. In simple terms, “Refugee shelter has to be beautiful. Psychologically, refugees are damaged. They have to stay in nice places.” (Shigeru Ban, Time)

In the instance of their ‘real-life’ scenario in Japan, the foundations for each house were beer crates weighed down with sandbags, the walls made from cardboard tubing (similar to that which would be found produced en-masse in the textiles industry) and the roof was a waterproof tent material. Between each tube in the wall, double sided and sponged tape protected the occupants from moisture and drafts. Each residence of 52sqm would cost less than US$2000 to produce, be environmentally sustainable and swift to erect. In subsequent building missions, the cost of construction may even decrease, based on the recyclability of some of the components. (Shigeru Ban Architects, 2008)

An impressive feature of these short to medium term paper tube homes, is their adaptability to various locations and refugee types. Shigeru Ban has designed with the occupant in mind, with the understanding that the situation for every refugee is different, that certain cultures call for different styles of living, and that the accessibility to resources may be scarce. In 1999, the paper tube construction was tested out in a case study involving Rwandan civil war refugees. It had come to the attention of the UN that the aluminium poles given to refugees to construct their tent housing, were being sold by the displaced, who instead cut down their own timber to provide the rigidity required for tents. With the potential for millions of refugees to undertake this practise, an alternative and more sustainable material was found in Shigeru Ban’s cardboard tube construction. Paper tubes could be manufactured nearby, on relatively simple machinery, and so transportation and construction costs were kept at a minimum. (Shigeru Ban Architects, 2008)

“The good thing about paper tubes is that they are readily available in various thickness and diameters. The weight they can support depends on these two things. theoretically, I can make buildings a few stories high, but I haven’t yet been given the opportunity”, (Shigeru Ban, DesignBoom)

Other such adaptations of Ban’s designs, included larger floorplates for Turkish refugees with traditionally larger families, and where there was absence of beer crates, the rubble from destroyed homes formed the foundations. To provide greater insulation, the tubes were filled with shredded paper and fibreglass. In India, the climate meant that structural changes need to occur to discourage mosquitoes, to encourage cross ventilation, and to allow the cooking of meals within the shelter.

In 2005, Vestal Designs designed the SHRIMP housing project (Sustainable Housing for Refugees via Mass Production), a modular flat-packed style of housing that can be shipped to locations all over the world en-masse. The strength of this design lies in its capacity to be manoeuvred into difficult regions, as Vestal Designs have based their dimensions around the international standard for shipping containers. This then becomes a game of numbers… a container ship can potentially carry 6,400 containers, and each container can fit four flat packed shelters, capable of housing four people each, meaning that a single container ship could grant the arrival of shelter for over 100,000 refugees. (Vestal Design, 2008) SHRIMP housing also comes complete with pontoons and pressurised air canisters, allowing for water deployment. This means the container ships do not require a port to deliver the shelters, and that they can be transferred to flooded areas or areas where roads would have otherwise proved useless, utilising other methods of transport such as rivers to gain access to displaced people. Conversely, where access to potable water is scarce, each facility comes equipped with a roof fixed water distillery. Once cleared of their need for use, and communities begin to rebuild their long term housing, they can then be flat packed again, and shipped back to a base for storage.

Arguably though, one of the downfalls of the S.H.R.I.M.P design, was its initial reliance on timber products. And although manufactured from Sustainably Farmed Wood, the cost of production off-site, and the carbon footprint of mass production in factory situations, means that financial savings of large scale deployment are negated. While timber SHRIMP units can be reused by the process of retrofitting and recycling of components, greater durability and less environmental impact has been explored with the use of second-hand shipping containers themselves as the materials. (Vestal Design, 2008)

In 1999, Architecture for Humanity hosted a competition that called for the design of housing for the refugees of Kosovo, who were returning to a war-stricken region to find most of their homes had been destroyed. The aim of the competition was “to foster the development of housing methods that would relieve suffering and speed the transition back to a normal way of life” (AFH, 2001). The key here was the capacity for transition, rather than short term solutions. One such entrant (receiving an Honourable Mention) was the Pallet House, by I-Beam Design. I-Beam later proposed a similar design for tsunami-hit Sri Lanka in 2004.

“The people of Kosovo, like most people, had a strong commitment to their homes. As the various relief agencies working in the area predicted, people headed home at the first opportunity. Refugee-style camps in Kosovo were not thought to be possible or desirable. With the end of hostilities, three quarters of a million people or more were spreading out to towns, villages and farms all over Kosovo.” (AFH, 2001)

The Pallet House was an excellent example of transitional modular housing. It was a stable alternative to tent-housing, and could “transform a temporary living condition into a permanent home” (I-Beam, 2008). The primary material was shipping crates or pallets, whose weight was negligible when it came to shipping emergency supplies to a region. One 4.8m2 permanent multi-level home, could be constructed out of roughly 100 crates, lashed or nailed together, in just a few days and for less than US$3000 (I-Beam, 2008).

The design in its modularity meant that it was a flexible solution for refugees, and had the capacity to adapt to different cultures and family types, and could be added to over time by the occupants. There were multiple configuration options, and the shelters could either be covered with tenting or plastic sheeting, or the pallets could be reinforced and filled with concrete or rubble, once these because readily available. Occupants could even add plaster or clay walls, and decorate how they desired. These transitional homes could essentially morph into structures of permanence.

“Some of the designs that came from the Kosovo exhibit were fascinating because they played on this mass customisation. They utilised local materials and technologies, plugged them into a system that was pre-existing, and introduce new technologies in order to provide clean water, energy, and a clean place to sleep, all basic life needs” (Sinclair, 2005)

Humanitarian design in the modern era means to look beyond provision of emergency housing and medical supplies until displaced people can ‘fend for themselves’. There is much emphasis on how we rebuild entire communities with economic efficiency, and how we plan for the long term future using intelligent design. In his interview, Sinclair gives the example that in South Africa, the average cost of a traditional medical clinic is around US$150,000, but this was dropped to a mere 15% with smart design parameters, viable materials, and most importantly an understanding of context. AFH was not only able to provide facilities that dramatically increased the numbers of people that clinics could support, but allowed for more resources to be spent on employing medical staff, and purchasing supplies. (Sinclair, 2005) Such on flow effects of humanitarian design are indicators that efforts from various agencies and agendas (education, shelter, medicine, sanitation etc) are converging in a new manner of refugee aid.

Critically, the dominant drive for refugee populations is a return to the life they once had, to their homes and communities where they felt safe. And safety is not just about a lockable door, but community spirit, trust between neighbours, and for the people providing aid and assisting them to return to their lives. It is important that designers working on humanitarian projects look beyond physical needs, to the rehabilitation of a people.

While prevailing factors for design and construction will always centre on modulation/customisation, sustainably sourced and recyclable materials, and speed/ease of supply, humanitarian designers must engage with the cultural and familial needs of a community. Not only must their homes be restored, but so must their faith, dignity, family network and prospects for the future. The key, says Kate Stohr (2006), is simplicity, “Simple construction technique is what works – it’s not typically high design”. Sinclair follows this up by stating that “truly responsive care goes far beyond providing a basic means of survival… if we treat it as a birth and rebirth, then we’re focussed on creating and generating life. This is where design should play an incredibly important role.” It is when the designer looks beyond the physical design itself, to the population she is designing for, that we see the greatest service to displaced people. Humanitarian architecture built with the intention of transition, has the capacity to be the building blocks for dynamic new villages, town and cities. It facilitates the growth of families and communities from the very first instance of their displacement.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Sinclair, C & Stohr, K (eds) 2006. Design Like You Give A Damn; Architectural Response to Humanitarian Crises, Architecture For Humanity, Metropolis Books.

Antonelli, P (2005), Safe: Design Takes on Risk, MOMA, New York (Design Like you give a damn)

Architecture For Humanity, Transitional Housing for Returning Refugees: Kosovo 1999-2000, http://architectureforhumanity.org/node/719
Retrieved August 1st, 2009

Design Boom, Shigeru Ban: Paper Loghouse. http://www.designboom.com/history/ban_paper.html Retrieved August 2nd, 2009
I-Beam Design, 2008. Humanitarian Projects.
http://www.i-beamdesign.com/projects/refugee/refugee.html
Retrieved July 27th 2009.

Irwin, T, 2009. UN refugee chief cites pressing needs as those uprooted tops 42 million. The UN Refugee Agency. http://www.unhcr.org/4a37c9076.html
Retrieved July 26th, 2009

Luscombe, B, 2000. He Builds With A Really Tough Material: Paper, Time Magazine Online. http://www.time.com/time/magazine/article/0,9171,997495,00.html
Retrieved July 26th, 2009

Vestal Design, SHRIMP Refugee Housing, http://www.vestaldesign.com/design/shrimp-refugee-housing/
Retrieved July 28th 2009

Wortham, J (2007) Instant Housing and Designing for Disaster, https://www.wired.com/culture/lifestyle/multimedia/2007/10/gallery_instant_housing
Retrieved July 28th, 2009

Rev head until the day I die…

Rev head until the day I die…

<3 Opel Calibra <3









I miss my car.
I miss spending too much money modifying her.
I miss car cruises with the club
I miss loud thumping tunes
I miss auto shows
I miss knowing how to drive her hard
I miss knowing her mechanically inside out
I miss head turning
I miss going super dooper fast
I miss being a show off
I miss sharing the auto obsession with my mum and her RX8
I miss surprising people “Oh wow is that YOUR car??”
I miss the shiny red paint, and the exhaust rumble

Goddam I have to get another car! Hmm, wonder what my next project shall be……

Gold Medal Time Waster

Gold Medal Time Waster


Ok come on now…something has got to give!
One cannot continue on a trajectory of ‘I’ll do it tomorrow’ and actually SUCCEED. Most days I feel like I don’t, other days I feel like Im hanging on with finger tips. Sometimes, but not very often, Im there in whole, only to find the pieces slipping as night falls, my day ends and I have achieved nothing. Not just ‘a little something’, but absolutely nothing.

I’ll give you an example.

School: I knew for three weeks that my final submission was coming up. I spent every night sitting in my study adding to the final submission, slowly but surely building towards a finished piece. Then something happened. One day I went into the study and I sat there. I picked up my Stanley knife and my scale rule, and I just looked at my half built model.
Nothing I could do could force me to finish it.
For hours that day I tried to build a second floor, so I gave up and tried to finish my floor plans. No success there either. I tried to make progress on my sketchbook. All I achieved that day was a ‘to do list’, of things to finish before submission. How contradictory!
As night fell that evening, Jimmy asked me how things were going, and I said ‘Fine’. I was so ashamed that I had sat there all day and made not one iota of progress… hours and hours wasted. I found anything I could to distract me, I’d check my facebook account… 5, 10, maybe 15 or 20 times. Id write out a shopping list, using the internet to compare prices between supermarkets, Id do ‘research’ on design by watching youtube documentaries, then follow the you-tube trail to things completely unrelated. Id draw out a monthly budget for finances. Id make myself a cup of tea. Id have a shower… the third one that day. I was convinced that if I got these things out of the way, my mind would be clear to focus on my assignment.

As the hours passed, I had so much anxiety about getting it finished, that I couldn’t sleep. So I’d stay up all night working on my assignment, and of the 12 hours through the darkness, I perhaps worked for 4 or 5 of them. I was the least productive creature you’d ever encountered. I could not work at speed and I could not stay focussed. A thousand thoughts of all varieties and durations streamed through my mind constantly. I thought about what I had to do tomorrow, I things I wanted to buy, or when I should do things, or what people were doing, or where I wanted to be. I thought about the environment, about life and love, and getting fit, and saving money, and seeing that exhibition, and doing a course, and cleaning the study.
I twitched, I fidgeted, I bounced my leg up and down, played with my hair, I painted my nails, and then picked it all off again.
In the end, at dawn on the day of my submission, I was not finished. But being the chronic perfectionist I am, I simply could not hand it in half finished. I could not stand there in front of the class and tell people that I had ‘worked’ on it for hours and still not successfully completed it. I was too ashamed, embarrassed, guilty, all of those, and so disappointed that it wasn’t my best work.

So I did not hand it in at all.
For days I had been fighting these distraction demons, and I wasn’t even bothering to hand it in.

I sat in the car outside my work (Id stayed at the office all night to work on it) and debated with myself, convincing myself that I was going to fail anyway, and that the humiliation wasn’t worth it. So I drove home at 5am. Jimmy was expecting me home at 9am (after I had gone to uni to submit) so I drove down the road with the lights off, parked my car a little further away, and curled up into a little ball. I tried to sleep for about an hour in the car, but it was too cold. Then I decided to leave my assignment in the car, cover it up with a jumper, in case Jim walked past and saw it, and then I snuck into the house, took off my shoes, and crept into the lounge room. I slept on the couch for a few hours until an appropriate time when I could ‘come home’. He never knew.

Two weeks later my lecturer contacted me to ask why I had never submitted. She had been told my work was of the highest calibre, but that she could not second my grades to date unless she saw the work. I wrote to her telling what had happened, how some sort of shutdown mechanism had meant that I sat for hours unable to finish a single component of my final folio. I told her I was willing to accept a fail and repeat the unit. She disagreed that this was appropriate, and asked to see what I had done, and gave me a week. And you know what happened? In that week, I did nothing. Oh GOD i tried. I sat down every night, and did more allnighters, desperately trying to raise the quality of my work and even complete some of it. It took me days to do things that should have taken hours. Again, I was infinitely distracted, I even cooked elaborate meals and went to the gym, using my heath as an excuse to not tackle the task at hand. And yet again, it wasn’t until the final hours before submission, that I was working at a frantic highly strung out pace, desperately trying to finish. Unfortunately the anxiety of submitting was not enough to overcome the days I spent wasting time. And so even though I had a second chance, AND an extra week, I still suffered miserably. I’d done a little more, sure. But it still wasn’t finished.

Here’s the clincher.

I did finally submit, albeit incomplete, and I got my mark back… 75, and a Distinction.
waaaat?
Not only did I pass, but they were good marks, and the work wasn’t even finished! Instead of being happy for what I had, I couldn’t help beat myself up over what I COULD have achieved had I been able to stay focused.

And this seems to happen with every unit at uni that I have ever attempted. I get really good marks for the most part, and then there is a drastic decline as the work piles up. Ive failed/repeated more units than I care to count, yet when I successfully complete a unit, my marks are really good! I know I can do the work, its not hard. But something always stops me. I like to blame ‘time’, I like to say Im ‘too stressed’ juggling fulltime work and study, but other people do it just fine, so why not me? And the reality is that I have lots of time, no less than everyone else. I just don’t know how to use it.
Generally I just tell myself that Im lazy, or that this ‘shutdown’ mechanism is just how I cope, and that I’ll try harder next semester. But its too endless, and it never gets better. Sometimes I try to talk myself out of it altogether – ‘as much as I want to complete this degree, I just don’t feel cut out for study. I almost didn’t pass year 12 for the exact same reason! I did great for the first 6 months then one by one it all fell apart and I only scraped through based on earlier grades, maybe I should take another path?’

And thats just school.

What about work? Oh don’t even get me started. I used to love my job, now I find it difficult to make it through a day. I am in constant fear that I’ll be found out for the things I am behind on, or haven’t done. For the love of gawd I cannot get or stay motivated, and the only things that I can achieve are short little menial tasks. Sometimes it goes up and down throughout the month – usually worse in the middle, and I actually used to think it was hormonal! Kinda still do.

And it gets worse;

*I always have a million thoughts in my head and I can mull over three or four completely different topics at the same time. I even consider myself a good writer, but I constantly have to make side notes on my screen because Im thinking too many topics ahead, jumping paragraphs, and I don’t want to lose those thoughts.

*Its difficult to initiate tasks, because its easier to not start, than to stop halfway through.

*I’ll sign up for a short course (three so far), and even if Ive paid money, I usually pull out/stop going after a few weeks.

*I end up working long hours but doing the same work as everyone else

*”I’ll do it tomorrow” is my mantra

*I can fluctuate quickly from genuinely sad or disappointed with life, to an intense focus on right now, and being happy being in the ‘right now’, but always with a million things to plan. MY boyfriend jokes that Im like a yo-yo, and he can almost see my mind working at a million miles an hour, when I should be relaxing. And relaxing IS very difficult, I feel guilty if Im not ‘on the go’. And its gotten progressively worse over the past 3 or so years, because the moment things start to appear calm, I start adding things into my life to be/achieve/do, to fill it up.

As the weeks pass it seems to have greater and greater impact on my capacity to get things done. I cant get myself to the gym, I am never ever at work on time, my house is a mess (or its the kind of clean where everything is stacked ‘neatly’ in piles a foot high, or shoved under my bed) and I make endless to do lists, wish lists, and budgets that are never ever achieved.
Im even procrastinating right now.
Im despairing over the things that are behind or overdue or imminent so I take time out to write about it.
What am I?
Nuts?!

Feels like Im going crazy.

BRAVERY – The Monday Project

BRAVERY – The Monday Project

Brave.

Brave.

Is that what you really want me to be?

Why not?

I mean, if I truly was brave, there would be a million things I might try to achieve that would seemingly leave you behind. Your tenure in my world may lapse.

Never truly.

Why?

Because you’ll always remember me as the one who gave you license to be brave.

Would you mind so much if I was brave by following you?

Of course not.

Really?

Really. I’d be flattered, in fact.

But…

But what?

What if I followed you, only to find that I wanted to change my mind, and do or be something else?

Well my dear, you’d truly then be the bravest, but you’d still in fact be following me, and oh! what an honour to be privy to such a thing!

Oh… this IS true isn’t it?

Yes.

Thank you

You’re very welcome, as always.

I love you, heart.

I love you, soul.

In response to The Monday Project

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Everyday

Everyday

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‘He allowed himself to be swayed by his conviction that human beings are not born once and for all on the day their mothers give birth to them, but that life obliges them over and over again to give birth to themselves’
Gabriel Garcia Marquez
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Short Form Essay – Contemporary Design Issues – 1st Year

Short Form Essay – Contemporary Design Issues – 1st Year

Contemporary Design Issues – Winter Semester

Zaha Hadid is an Iraq born, English trained architect famous for her Deconstructivist style of architecture. She has been widely recognised for her use of highly advanced 21st century imaging technology to depict her very organic forms, and in 2004 was the first woman to be awarded the prestigious Pritzker Prize for her contribution to the field of architecture, arguably the highest honour bestowed upon a living architect.



Hadid’s work is an organic exploration of plane, and expresses an intrinsic and raw sense of movement that builds upon itself much as melody builds upon rhythm. It has been described as ‘combin(ing) sculptural sensuality with formal logic’ (Carolyn Ford writing on Hadid’s Chanel Mobile Art Pavilion). And in a ground breaking installation at the Guggenheim Museum in New York in 1992, her contribution was described as this seamless ebb and flow of matter by architecture critic Joseph Giovanni;

“…expanding it into the third dimension, moving the parts in abstract formations, like ice flows, through the whole museum. What seemed graphically like an object emerged as a field of objects moving through the existing building, adapted to its circular geometry. The movement was fluid, and spatial: the forms dropped and rose throughout the structure.”

This description is an altogether accurate analogy of Hadid’s catalogue of work. Hadid took great influence from the work of the Suprematists school of thought, and was an avid painter, using the brush to visual form and realise her designs. But Hadid’s design philosophy was lauded not for her interpretation of Suprematist ideals (many of which belonged to her teachers and mentors) but because she constantly tested and pushed the norms for visual communication of her designs, adopting ideas not explored by her predecessors, generating the realisation of what the built form could indeed achieve.

“She often layered drawings done on sheets of transparent acrylic, creating visual narratives showing several spatial strata simultaneously… this methodology, applied in the elusive pursuit of almost intangible form, she escaped the prejudice latent in such design tools as the T-square and parallel rule… Adopting isometric and perspectival drawing techniques used by the Suprematists to achieve strangely irrational spaces that did not add up to Renaissance wholes, she entered an exploratory realm where she developed forms distorted and warped in the throes of Einsteinian space…” Joseph Giovanni, The Architecture of Zaha Hadid, Pritzker Prize Essay 2004.

Hadid’s renderings, models and sketches, had taken form away from matter, and weight away from mass. Interestingly, for the first 10 years of her architectural career, not one of her visions was built. It seemed that she was destined to be too far ahead of her time, that was, until the age of the computer. Much discussion has ensued regarding technology’s influence in Hadid’s post 1980’s work, and the effect visualisation technology had on her design style of exploring natural, dynamic, almost single surface forms. And the question to be asked, would Hadid have achieved the level of success of current, if it had not been for the computer? Patrick Schumacher, author of Digital Hadid, believes not. Schumacher argued that to reduce this new style of working as being generated by the onset of the computer, is to ignore a great many other predating advancements in methodolody and critical practise. Yet he does agree that with the onset of 3D modelling and digital rendering programs in Hadid’s work “…a new level of structural complexity, tectonic fluidity, and plastic articulation has been mastered with precision and confidence”, pp5-6.

Hadid now enjoys frequent forays across discipline, having been commissioned to design jewellery, furniture, and shoes amongst other things.

Ford, C. Chanel – Zaha Hadid <a href="http://www.livingcreatively.com.au/current_issue/issue_7

Giovanni, J. 2004, The Architecture of Zaha Hadid – Pritzker Prize Laureate Essay http://www.pritzkerprize.com/laureates/2004/essay.html Retrieved July 9th 2004

Schumacher, P. 2004. Digital Hadid -Landscapes in Motion, Birkhäuser Basel, London.

Two Draw Cabinet

Zaha & Melissa Shoes

Cairo Expo City

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On Creativite Genius – Elizabeth Gilbert

On Creativite Genius – Elizabeth Gilbert


Elizabeth Gilbert wrote a book that I absolutely adored, and dreamed that I could one day emulate as I struggle through writing my own history. http://www.elizabethgilbert.com/eatpraylove.htm

She made me want to throw my cares to the wind, chase dreams, and look for rainbows. The disillusion of self, and heartache rendered by her dependence on others was like reading the introduction to my own story.

And as I frequently encounter the next mental and creative block, I came across this speech by Gilbert, on the pressures and battles of creativity, and how to carry the burden. And importantly, how much self doubt she still carries in her ability, and how hard it is still for her to sit down and write.

.Check it.

Art & Architecture

Art & Architecture

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I had to share this because it is so striking. Tokujin Yoshioka is an extremely talented multidisciplinary artist who covers graphics, exhibition design, furniture & product design, and architecture (http://www.tokujin.com/)

This recent piece by him was for the largest watch exhibition in the world, Baselworld2009, and was commissioned for Swarovski. It is called the Lake of Shimmer and measures 9m by 8m and contains 16,000 mirrors attached to the wall, each which have their angle controlled by a computer. This makes for a stunning play of colour and light, and adds a beautiful smoothness and naturality to a very mechanical operation. It is like watching ripples in a pond and while visually stimulating, is calming to the mind because of its representation of natural life & movement.
Who doesn’t feel as peace when gazing by the waters edge?

Gifts from strangers

Gifts from strangers

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Somebody I had never met before, spent an hour talking to me yesterday. They sat back in their chair, paused and thought for a moment before saying “You know exactly what you want from life don’t you? You know exactly what you’re doing. And where you want to be, and how you’re gonna get there”

Bless him. This surprised me; that after an hour of conversation, one considered themselves so perceptive. And honestly and confidently voice their perception.

This surprised me too, because I blinked quickly and thought wow…

…Thankfully, yes, I actually do.

Finally.
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Letter to Shanks

Letter to Shanks

Dear Shanks,

I know you are going on this big adventure, and opening a really massive new chapter in your life. I wanted to tell you a couple of things that I thought of but just didn’t say, as I stood in Kim’s hallway and wondered what I should say to you. I ended up telling you I was proud of you. But it’s so much more than that.

I want to thank you for making friends with a complete stranger over the radio. For not caring about where I was from, or where I’d been, what I’d done, or what I’d seen. And for wanting to be my friend because of who I was on the inside.


I want to let you know that you moving to Melbourne was the kick start that I needed, helping me to understand that no-one is ultimately trapped in their situation. And I wanted to thank you for those lonely first weeks in this bloody cold place, where we sat in various pubs in the city, smoking our cigarettes and contemplating our existence. And not only bonding over this massive new adventure, but actually learning things about each other and becoming greater friends. Because the reality tied to this situation is that as much as we got along, we didn’t really know each other then.



And thankyou for the months that followed, picking up late night pizzas/kebabs/chinese and stumbling drunkenly home, getting lost while exploring the most random places, catching gigs, making new friends (and enemies! …Ah that night on the tram on the way to Laundry, when we had a run-in with the junkies!) and always having yet another random Bikkies and Shanks adventure. And THANKYOU for taking Jimmy into your fold of friends as you did with me. Its like you passed the baton… and now he gets to hold my hair back when Im sick. Arent you glad you passed THAT baton on!? lol


We were flat broke together, starved together, and when we had cash… boy! did we live LARGE together. The memories are forever and incorruptible (except the ones where… you know… we don’t actually remember what happened. lol)


I am also grateful for having you round during the shitty nights, when I hated where I was and who I am. But you were always there, you taught me that it was ok to call someone a c*nt, if they were being one. And that Monday night drinking sessions were never worth it on Tuesday morning, but were necessary at the time, so that I could vent. You knew when I was having a rough time, and you were always there with bear-hugs. There were Luca-demons, the death of my friend, losing my little Conni, and crappy crappy work colleagues. There were also girl-dramas and cash-flow dramas. And icky icky come-downs. You also told me when I should just harden the fuck up… I really needed that too sometimes.


Seriously dude it has been 2 years of mayhem, chaos, pain, victory, growth, and maturity (who knew I could put those words in the same sentence!) and we’ve had a crazy crazy time. We have come to the end of an era, but not the end of a wicked friendship. Ultimately I am SO proud of you… I look back on me and think ‘Holy shit, look how far I’ve come’ but I’ve also looked back at you, and you’ve grown so much as a person too. I am so grateful for a best friend like you… one of the truest ones.


These next few years of your life are going to take you places you never would have believed possible, and you’ll see things and meet people who will constantly blow your mind (both good and bad). You are an awesome awesome person and I have not met one soul who doesnt get along with you. Dont bloody forget it, if theyve got a problem with you… its their problem. Youre just one of those people you know? You make friends easily, you go out of your way to help & understand people, and your a total trashbag (apparently people like that? ;p )


Please keep your wits about you, and for godsake keep your phone insured. Take LOTS of photos, keep in touch, keep true to yourself, drink things other than scotch, eat weird food (and get gastro), poke strange animals (but not strange people), learn swearwords in foreign languages, call me on Skype and teach me foreign swearwords, download lots of Oz hip hop to educate your fellow crew, and never ever forget how many people love the shit out of you back home.


Best.Housemate.Ever

Hugs and Gutz!


xx Kaye

P.S. A few of the classics…..

1. http://www.facebook.com/photo_search.php?page=4&id=619719209&view=all&m=1#/video/video.php?v=119431231040&subj=642109618


2. http://www.facebook.com/photo_search.php?page=4&id=619719209&view=all&m=1#/video/video.php?v=46587244618&subj=642109618


3. http://www.facebook.com/photo_search.php?page=4&id=619719209&view=all&m=1#/video/video.php?v=51120524618

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I <3 My Folks

I <3 My Folks
So I introduced my parents to my blog. I had to think about it for a little while… but hey, its me right?

And then lo-and-behold… I got a package in the mail! Mum had actually brought me the french bag that I blogged about in December last year! Well, same designer, similar style…

I got this one…

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Recipe for an anxiety cure

Recipe for an anxiety cure

Take one large dose of icy cold weather and rain

A few small pinches of camping equipment

1 cup of red wine (did I say 1? I meant 4, no wait, 5.)

A hefty dollop of cuddle-y love from the boy

Several lashings of bbq’d meat & salad

and a sprinkling of hiking, football on the beach, and wombat watching.

And VIOLA! Anxiety gone!

Ive just finished university for the semester… YAY! And I can barely contain my excitement. Jim and I have been planning our camping trip for weeks now. We travel down to Wilsons Prom on a Friday and stay for 3 days. The beauty of going at this time of year is that the place is tomb-quiet. Most people chicken out at the thought of sleeping in a tent at 3 degrees but Oh! not me! Its my favourite time of year to camp!

Once the tent is pitched, we do a little exploring, cook some dinner on the bbq, and then retire to the tent with 3 fluffy doona’s, a thick mattress, a beautiful bottle of Barossa or Clare Valley Shiraz, and some drool-worthy cheeses. We go to sleep when the sun goes down, and rise with the birds. The tent keeps us dry, and we huddle inside if its raining. When its not raining we run around like fools on the beach to keep ourselves warm. There are no phones. And no internet. And no power, so there isnt even any music or generators. And no small screaming children. Its just PERFECT.

This weekend just gone i worked for 48 hours STRAIGHT on my final assignment. I woke up at 9am on Saturday, and did not sleep again until 9am on Monday. Sure Ive done my uni all nighters before, but never two in a row. And never again let me tell you. On Monday morning, I was not sure I could safely drive home (Id locked myself away in the office to get it all done), my eyes were bloodshot and sunken, my lips were dry and cracked, and I was hallucinating. My eyes played mean tricks on me and I looked like a startled rabbit. On crack.

And its done. But I promise promise promise I will NOT do that to myself again!
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List for a shitty day…

List for a shitty day…

Things that make me happy, or ‘The List That I like To Use On A Shithouse Day”

I just pick something, and do it.
Whether its buying myself a really yummo cheese from the market, or picking up some daisys on the way home, or planning a weekend away camping…
I know these are the things that make me happy, so I find a way to do them!

1.Big flamboyant red wines with creamy crumbly cheese
2.Getting home in the evening to find that a vase of flowers opened while I was out and the whole house smells of lilies
3.Cycling downhill while peddling backwards and listening to the whirring of the gears
4.Succulent salmon with a crispy crust, on a bed of mash potato
5.The ultimate comeback in a disagreement
6.Watching the sun rise, and knowing that no matter how knackered you are, it was totally worth it
7.Spoiling my boy and watching the surprise on his face
8.Op Shopping in Brunswick
9.Sleeping in the warm car in the sunshine
10.West Australian sunsets
11.The moment directly after cleaning up my desk, when I realise I have alot of space!
12.The of lightness after submitting a major tender
13.Climbing onto the kitchen stools and dancing, three feet above the ground
14.The giddy endorphin rush as I walk out of the gym
15.Clicking with a complete stranger
16.Electric blankets on a chilly night
17.Finding the PERFECT dress
18.Animal documentaries
19.Getting flowers delivered to work for ALL to see!
20.Shopping with my baby sister
21.The smell of damp air just before it rains
22.Riding my bicycle through Fawkner Park in the evening, through the brown leaves and under the yellow path lights, when the sky is charcoal grey and the darkness comes from the trees
23.Being a flirt
24.Going out of my way to help a stranger
25.Making people laugh
26.Waking up with sore legs and knowing that not only did I probably burn 1000 calories, but that its because I danced to my favourite music the night before.
27.Being inspired by how simple some people lives their lives, but still with immense happiness
28.Knowing ALL the lyrics to a song, and singing them aloud with a friend
29.Going for a big swim, then followed by a nap
30.Being complimented
31.Stomping around the house pretending Im Eminem (I know WAY too many of his songs haha)
32.Long showers where I just sit on the steamy tiles and zone out
33.The smell of freshly ground coffee (even more than the taste!)
34.Spooning
35.Visitors
36.A baby’s infectious burbling laugh
37.Kissing in the rain
38.Getting that hairstyle JUST right
39.Big lavish dinners for friends that take forever to cook but are totally worth it
40.Drawing pictures in the wet sand at the beach
41.Food-comas
42.Hiking till I cant hike no more, and camping out. And then hiking back again!
43.Spotting a shooting star
44.Getting a professional massage that seems to last for hours
45.Acting crazy in public, just to giggle at peoples reactions
46.Realising that I have money saved in my spare bank account that I didn’t even know about!47.Curling up in bed during an early morning thunderstorm, and knowing that I can get up when I like!
48.The smell of hot salty potato chips
49.Playing on the playground that is CLEARLY designed for children
50.Baking warm muffins and then eating every single one before the day is finished!
51.Playing with puppies
53.Having a picnic.
54.Having a picnic with candles inside when the weather is crappy
55.Feeling (and looking) like shit first thing in the morning, only to be told Im the most beautiful creature on the planet56.Being right when everyone was thinking I was wrong
57.Skipping
58.Magpies warbling in the morning
59.Getting an excited buzz when I realise who is waiting for me at home
60.A fresh new haircut61.Kicking Honkey-nuts
62.Pouring my heart out onto a page, and not realising how much I have written until my hand cramps
63.Taking lots and lots of photos
64.Realising how important someone is to me
65.Wednesdays… aka Hump Day
66.The perfect chai, made from scratch, with honey and soy.
67.Lying on the warm pavement in the sun on a chilly day
68.Dancing around the kitchen
69.The smell of aftershave… on a mans flesh.
70.Stepping out of the bath looking like a prune
71.The smell of wet earth, rain, and warm air in the evening
72.Lying on the grass on my lunch break with my head on his tummy, watching the clouds
73.Camping in the height of winter with lots of doonas and red wine
74.Puppy smell
75.Breakfast on Christmas Day with my family, complete with Crayfish and Champagne!
76.Long horseback trailrides until my butt and my thighs hurt
77.The smell of leather, and sweat, and dust and horses
78.Cooked prawns with seafood sauce
79.Chasing chickens
80.Burnouts, and truckstop runs. And burnouts.
81.Long drives on winding coastal roads with windows down and my hair blowing all over the place
82.Painting my nails fire-engine red, even though it doesn’t match my outfit!
83.Traipsing through second hand bookshops in Fitzroy
84.Painting things to go in my house, and reusing old/cool/funky things in new ways
85.Picking strawberries
86. Banana bread from Piccolo

To be continued……
…..

untitled.

untitled.

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If I write on floral paper will my words sound sweeter?
Will they ring with gentle laughter and tales that make you smile?
I write frantically in the hope that a page with lacy edges and a silver sheen soften the anguish when you leave me.
I pray for it to mute the crushing sound of your heart as I write that I’m leaving you.

You did this to us.

I cry because you left me, and I cry on days like today because the sun is shining and the air is warm and the breeze tickles my cheek.
But I asked you to go.
I wish to call you and suggest we have one of those wonderful picnics we use to have.
When we didn’t have any money, and it didn’t matter.

And your heart crushes on the page that I wrote you.
And the hurt leaks out, rippling across the page to seek out the pen as it scratches the paper.
I watch in wonder as the pen inhales it brutally
It undulates like a silent ocean rip within the ink, spreading slowly to the tips of my fingers
There it stains, as I tell you that I love you.

I’m leaving.

I flick through the notebooks, careful not to drop a piece of your pain from the tip of my torn nails
I pick another piece of paper and start again.
I find the prettiest piece. Its blue. Softly blue.
But there is that sound, loud and clear as I write with the leaking pen and my stained fingers.

I’ll never stop loving you.

It’s your heart, crushing on the paper.
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Yellow Eyes

Yellow Eyes

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I like to lie on my back on the grass with my eyes shut. I do this often on my lunch break, whenever the sun promises to peek from behind the clouds. I stare at the sun through closed lids. The heat warms my veins and the rays permeate the transparency of my flesh. When my eyes flicker open, the world has a golden hue. The grass has a luminescence, the buildings have soft ochre tones and the leaves on the trees, turning now because its autumn, have little gold rims. Everything I look at is bathed in yellow, and its somehow more magical.

I cannot help but reminisce about when I used to look through dads old sunglasses. As a child I would pick them up, ever so gently, and slide the giant metal frames over my freckled face. They sat there well, on account of my nose being quite turned up back then. He would doze on the couch, and I would make off with them, admiring the burnt yellow lenses – such was the seventies. Sometimes I would put them on and stand at the front window, marvelling at how they could change the colours of our garden, the passing cars, and the people that traversed the footpath. I would lift them away from my face, and drop them again, giggling at how I could make people go brown like the Jendayi family. Mum said they were “ethnics”, I never found out what kind, dad didn’t really like me playing near their house. They moved away after a few years, I think because they didn’t have many friends. I’d play with dad’s glasses by the window for as long as he would sleep. If he’d been to the bottle-o after his shift, then I got to play with them for longer, because he’d always sleep longer then. I’d sit patiently on the footrest, watching the afternoon news with him, until he nodded off.

Dad would always yell if he ever caught me with his glasses. They were his favourites and he’d had them as long as I could remember. One day I did not see him coming, and he had yelled with such ferocity that I’d dropped them. He snatched them off the ground and rammed them onto his face. He gripped my arm very hard and jerked me towards him. “Whaddaya think you’re doing boy!?” he boomed as he shook me. I froze up then, because I feared what he might do to me if I told him that I’d been playing with them. So I didn’t say anything. He lent down and brought his nose close to mine, digging his nails into my arm. He stared at me intently through the ochre lenses, and I remember thinking how yellow his eyes looked. He leant closer, and I could smell the dark liquor on his breath. He slapped me then, because I didn’t answer him. The handprint had glowed immediately. I should have answered him, then I wouldn’t have been hit. I tried not to cry because it was my fault, but the second time he slapped me, it whipped my head around and rogue tears had trickled down my cheek. But they didn’t wash away the red welt. They never did.

He relaxed then, and the anger subsided as quickly as it had risen. He had sighed, using me to push himself upright. He tousled my hair and walked back to the TV room, talking over his shoulder as he walked out, “I love you kid, but you fucking shit me to tears”. I always thought later on that if I had just stopped taking his glasses, he might have loved me that bit more. But I couldn’t help it, I loved how the my parents house looked through them, and I loved that with a flick of my wrist, I could distort the colours of my world.

From that day on, I’d always taken extra care when I snuck off with his glasses. I’d sneak off to the back of the horses paddock, and walk around, pretending to be dad. I’d always add a little swagger, because dad always had a beer belly. And I’d talk to our chestnut mare Bella, mimicking dad’s gravelly tone. And I’d always wear the glasses, and Bella would always glow a golden burning orange beyond them. And then I’d traipse back to the house, flicking the sunglasses up and down as I went. I was always careful to return them just as I had found them.

When dad died of liver failure in 1983, they buried him with his sunglasses. I remembered how his face was coloured behind them, that day he slapped me, and I thought to myself that now his eyes would be yellow forever. When I was much older, I realised that dads’ eyes were already yellow, and that he was probably dying for as long as I could remember. As now, as I lay on my back on this crisp autumn day, I hope to god that I will never wear yellow glasses again, and that the tingling I feel behind my eyes when I lay on my back will always fade away.
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Friday Fog

Friday Fog

Image by http://stephensoo.blogspot.com/2009/04/melbourne-shrouded-in-fog.html

I am awake before the birds are today.
Mind you, it’s a little after 7am and it’s only the fog that keeps them sleepy. I can see them in the trees all puffy and cute wrapped in dewy grey blankets.

I wish to stay home today, to sit by my window and watch the sunshine burn the layers of fog, to toast the birds until they stir and press their feathers back to their skin, because they are warm. And they will sing and feed, and poo on my car. And I will watch them, and write. But I have to go to work. In the city. Amongst the buildings, up high. With my computer and my photocopier and my crappy cappuccino machine. And the in-tray that rivals Mount Everest.

And then, when I DO get to work …I write about how I want to be at home. Writing. And watching the birds poo on my car, once the sun burns away the fog.

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All Mine.

All Mine.

short story.


Could he be an investment banker?
No. Not cool enough.
An architect?
Now, yeah. Thats cool.
An architect. She smiles

Sara is staring straight ahead now, as they rumble down the road.
How lovely to be married to an architect, spending your lazy Sundays by the fire, talking about the dream home while he sketches away. Her lips curl up in a little half smile, and she closes her eyes. The sun is beginning to rise, filtering gently through the morning mist to warm the cabin.

The bus rocks gently from side to side, cradling her wishful thinking, until it lurches over a pothole and her eyes flicker open.

She steals a glance sideways and feels the familiar strain behind her eyes, as she tries to look without looking. He is fiddling absently with his shirt button, and as he stares out the window, a fine stream of condensation is forming on the window where his breath blows gently. Sara can tell that he is daydreaming.

He is rather lovely to look at, you know. Quite striking. And the beauty of their daily ritual meant that she saw him, on this route, every single day. He did not know how much she adored him, loved him. Yes, love was a strong word for a stranger, but Sara believed she truly did. She loved how he sat, how he played with his hair, and how in the afternoons on the way home, he would doze, head pressed to the window, mouth slightly parted. And she fantasised that he was hers
“All mine”.
To kiss and to cuddle, and to greet him when he got home, to soothe him after a long day, and be warmed by his boyish grin.
He is glancing over now, his solemn eyes moving around the bus. He is absently scanning the passengers, following their movements. He has seen her! He recognises her face as a regular on the bus, and smiles, before returning to his view out of the window, his fingers reaching up to toy with his shirt buttons again.
Sara’s heart swells and she tries not to grin like a fool. Yes, today is going to be a good day, being cooped up in the office will pass like a dream, and that smile of his will carry her through the day.

As the time passes, she is ever closer to disembarking. Couldn’t she just ride this bus with him forever? But of course he too, would have to get off at his own stop, and that would break her heart. And she would feel empty again, as she always does when he leaves her each day. And that ache would return.

She desires for him to be hers. To run her long fingers through his thick dark hair, gently dragging the long curls out until they bounce back to his scalp. She’d like for him to be an architect, and maybe one day far away, she will ask him. And he will say yes, and invite her to visit the buildings that he will build all over the world.
But he isn’t hers.

Its his stop, and she yearns for him to stay near her. But like every other day, he picks up his bag and prepares to leave her all alone. He saunters down the aisle, with all the carefree attitudes of a 4 year old. As he passes her, he smiles one last time, before grabbing his mummy’s hand. He is swung down the steps with a whooshing sound and he squeals gleefully, clapping his hands in delight as he lands. Sara watches him longingly, one hand on her stomach where the baby once was, as the bus pulls away from the school.
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Extract 1

Extract 1

Amelia lifted her feet from the boiling depths of her bathtub and watched the steam curl ever so slowly off her toes. A smile crept across her glistening face at the colour of her shins. Shiny and red like the crays her dad used to pull from the stainless pot, and wave teasingly at her fleeing back.
She tipped her head back to rest on the edge of the tub, the cool tiles pressing to the nape of her neck. She mused if heaven would be like this, so quiet, and decadent. But she had little doubt that they did not serve her favourite Sangiovese in heaven, and she took another sip, allowing the dark liquidised fruit to roll across her tongue before it cascaded lovingly down her throat.

Amelia reflected on her day. Truly, no different from any other. Late for work, another sleepless night locking her to the quilt much too late in the morning. Straining her shoulder at the gym, a recurring injury that she could not pinpoint as free-weights induced, or stored anxiety. And missing her train home only to have the subsequent train cancelled on her. But in her wait at the station, she had noticed him. He would have been unassuming, perhaps unnoticed altogether, if he had not moved into her path. He would have been this inconspicuous, if Amelia had not noticed the gloom that darkened his haunting face. As she had walked past, arms wrestling with the depths of her satchel for her Ipod, she had dropped her magazine on the concrete platform. Bending to pick it up, the boy had beaten her to it, stooping low and quickly as if to snatch it and run. Instead, he passed it to Amelia, and as she reached out to take it from him, she’d noticed the alarming differences between their hands. She could not have been more than 5 or 6 years older than him, yet his hands were calloused, cracked and dirty, creeping out from beneath a grey jumper that swamped his thin frame. Her hands were fine, soft, sure she chewed her nails incessantly but still, she sported a glossy red acrylic on what remained. As her long fingers moved, her engagement ring twinkled briefly underneath the fluorescent lights.
Amelia stared at his hands until they returned to deep in his pockets, and she had realised very suddenly that she was standing mute in front of this boy with no apparent intention. As a godsend, the train rolled slowly into the station, she had mumbled a thankyou, turned quickly on her patent black heels and shuffled with the crowd, onto the waiting train.

Quickly, Amelia battled her way to one of the few remaining vacant seats, plonking her satchel and gym bags victoriously on her lap. She looked around the train, unable to settle her gaze amongst the passengers, and returned her vision to the platform. Amelia had seen so many junkie kids around the city, general steering a clear path around the vacant forms as they gathered under doorways and on stairwells. So why had she found herself so captivated by this one? He could not have been older than 16, his thin shoulders pitching into his jumper, accentuating the already dwarfing fabric. The alarm sounded and the doors had closed. The boy looked up from the stained concrete from where he sat on his bench seat, and absently scanned the carriages. His eyes fixed on her briefly then moved on. But Amelia could not stop watching him. She had realised that in the moment their eyes met, that she had looked into the eyes of an old old man. His eyes were grey like his jumper, devoid of any true definition of colour, and vacant of any spark, dark clouds of sleeplessness jostled across his face. And in that brief second across metres of platform, she had heard him say “I know what you see”. He had looked at Amelia, and then back through her to himself, and she had witnessed it all from the sidelines.

Amelia opened her eyes in an attempt to clear the image of his face from her head. The foamy bubbles crackled around her ears. She felt overwhelmed with sadness. Of all the addicted and impoverished that had ever crossed her path this boy – this kid, this addled child – had told her, without words, of his inherent awareness of his own destitution. Across metres of platform, he spoke to her of a youthful world lost to an adult desire. In those steel grey eyes.

Anthony came in the door as Amelia padded down the timber corridor in her cotton socks. She gave a little squeal of delight as they met halfway, and she threw herself into his embrace. Even as a statuesque woman, Tony had the capacity to make her feel very small, one of the many reasons why she loved him. And as he squeezed her, planting faint kisses quickly on her forehead, the image of the boy on the platform dissolved from her mind.

Blogs of Note. Part II

Blogs of Note. Part II

By Holly Becker.

Writing today’s topic for the Creativity Series was a bit of a struggle because I am sensitive to how the economy is affecting others and despite how badly I want to radiate hope and positivity I don’t want to come across as happy-go-lucky, annoying, or perhaps naive to the problems that many are facing. But you know what, I’m not going to over cook this because who knows, maybe some of you need this reminder so this week we’re going to talk about developing a sense of humor to not only help you be more creative but to keep you sane in a pretty messed up world.

How does developing a sense of humor inspire creativity? How can it help you get though hard times?

It can really push down walls when you decide to lighten up and just be yourself without becoming overly concerned about the opinions of others. It can also protect you from your worst enemy which so often yourself. I can’t stress how important this is. When others are overly judgmental, negative, or when you find yourself being overly critical of yourself, it’s time to tap into your sense of humor.

I believe that laughter stimulates great thinking. When you are under less stress your thoughts flow more freely and your mind can wander a bit outside of the box.

A sense of humor helps us during the journey. Drama seems to up ratings on television but in real life, it only brings our ratings down. Friends may start to dodge us, clients could begin to call us into question, family members will avoid “stepping on eggshells” simply by withholding information that you really should be hearing. It’s a lot easier to communicate with someone who doesn’t fly off the handle over every little thing. This is the sign of someone who may need to tap into their sense of humor. The world does not revolve around any of us, we’re all going to hit problems and deal with annoyances often on a daily basis. There is no problem-free life, no perfect government, no ideal marriage partner. We’re all broken in one way or another with our own fears, dysfunctions, inabilities, dark sides, etc. It’s important to accept that fact and realize early on that nothing we take on is easy, whether that’s a new child, a career, or something that should be fun like starting a new hobby. Developing your creative side takes effort, failure often rides alongside success, so it’s unavoidable that the path you thought would be perfect may not be the same path you find yourself on in a few years. That’s where a sense of humor helps. Trust that the journey is often as rewarding, if not more, than reaching the actual goal. Allow your sense of humor to take the wheel when you feel like giving up or flipping out. During the hard times you may need to step outside of the ‘bubble’ you’re in and laugh at the situation a little.

Remind yourself that you’re human.

While sense of humor is important, going through life laughing things off and ignoring potential issues is dangerous. I’m certainly not encouraging laughing at funerals or telling your depressed friend to stop feeling sorry for herself. You have to take things seriously but there does come a point where you’ve taken something seriously so what’s next? You then have to start dealing with it, mending the problem, repairing or rebuilding, etc. It’s at that point when you can decide to put a positive spin on the situation or not. You can find some relief as you deal with your issue if you remember the good during the bad times.

Happy people are more creative, creative people are more productive, and productive people are well, happier. I once read somewhere that developing a more optimistic world view can help you become more resilient and that it’s good for your emotional and even physical health to lighten up and laugh. That’s good stuff there.

I could go on and on but you get the point of what I’m trying to say. Look at the good side. Keep your goals in front of you. Laughter really can be the best medicine. Before I sign off I want to leave you with a few tips on how I keep a positive outlook. First, I don’t take myself too seriously. If I screw up, I admit and move on. I even laugh out loud at myself in public — I once fell down the stairs at a party and laughed so hard I cried – and I was wearing a dress and high heels and clearly made an idiot of myself but I got up and started dancing again and just shook it off. Sometimes when I’m moody and crabby I don’t feel like laughing. At all. That’s when I immediately notice something is wrong so I’ll call a friend who I know will make me laugh, I look for my online friends, I put on some good music, or I watch something really random and stupid on YouTube. :)

By Holly Becker at Decor8

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Attention Span, the slut.

Attention Span, the slut.

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Im feeling more than a little distracted lately. There is so much ‘going on’ that I feel like Im at the eye of a storm. Im standing within a very small tornado and everything is still. So still, and silent. Yet around me the wind roars, its swirls and roars and turns everything around me upside down. But inside at the core remains, its small, darkened by debris, and solitary. I can hear people outside my storm, theyre smiling and talking to me, we go places and we do things. I go to work and I exercise and I go to school, but everything is muffled.

I would like very much to see clearly beyond the turmoil right outside my very person. And Id like this because I have so much to look forward to, that I want to experience with every possible emotion and every inch of energy that I can muster.

A few months back Jim asked me to move in with him, in a place to rent all of our own. Initially I was excited, it seemed logical and perfectly timed, he was so adorably enthusiastic, and I wanted a change. Two weeks later I was in tears and he could not understand.** I was fearful of what could become. Our lives were so happy and smooth exactly as we were. Would we be tempting fate by taking the plunge, and would it upset our boat too much? I already had alot on my plate and holding a relationship together would not fit. Jim took it all in his stride, as he so often does, and looked at the whole scenario as just the next rung in the worlds ‘most-awesome-est’ ladder. He has never lived with a partner, where as I watched my last relationshop crumble, coming home to that man every day, and loving him just that little bit less every time. The universe knows that I did not want to go through that all again.

Jim held my hand while I ummm’d and ahhh’d. He shook his head in confusion, shrugged his shoulders to wait, and bit his tongue to stem the questions he wished to ask. Eventually, after much stern internal dialouge, I bit the bullet and agreed that it was the right move. It wasnt fair to lump him into the same package as a failed relationship from years prior, at a time when I was a much different person, not to mention dating a much different person.

Today I feel the little buzz when I realise how close we are to moving in. The collection of keys is 72 hours away (who’s counting??) and our home is all ready to move in. We are all packed, and waiting for the onset of the weekend so that we can do it! The floor plans are in my head, I know what I want to go where, Im planning furniture purchases, and colours, and styles. Jim jokes on how Ive done such a backflip from FREAKOUT to nesting. Oh I hate that word… ‘Nesting’. Im not nesting… Its just my design background coming forth. Or am I? I have to admit that the interior design is not the only thing Im thinking about. Im thinking about entertaining, and having guests, and where the nearest kitsch cafe is, and cooking dinners, and how long it will take me to ride Audrey (my bicycle) to the beach.

I am excited. Im crazy excited, and as the days pass I just wish for it to happen today, yesterday even.

In early March I wished for something very far away. I wished to have my family close by. And it was the only thing I wished for in all of that week. I wish alot, if you werent already aware. Financially I am in no position to fly to the other side of Australia to see the people, and the home and even the pets I miss the most. Only days after posting that wish, and that image, my mum contacted me. Flights were very cheap to Perth at the moment, and would I like to fly over and house-sit for a week while they went to Queensland? Heck yes! So mum brought me a ticket and and even extended it by a day, so that I could see them, sit with them, and talk about important shit, but also bullshit, as Ive so missed.

These two things take up most of my daily excitement (as my work is no longer stimulating and exciting as it once was – but that is a whole other matter) and distract me no end. Sometimes I find myself trying to forget that they are happening so that I can focus on the now… on my assignments due tomorrow, the tasks due by the end of this week. Is it fair to do that to myself? I dont know. Trying to block out all the interesting things that are coming up, so that I can get the crap out of the way first? Is this even a good way to look at it?

Im tired. Really I am. I see myself in the mirror most mornings and Im convinced Ive given up. And I do truly look tired, but not in such a way like a late night on the turps… moreso that I look beyond my years (without the wisdom), and some days are worse than others. Sometimes, the things I do are with such vigour, frantic, but for only a short while. Other things, I do not even attempt at all. My work is suffering, my university studies too. My attention span wanes as often as she pleases. She gets up to take coffee breaks and smoke-o breaks and the dirty trashbag has a regular secret rendevous with the guy down the hall… his name is Distraction. She goes off on little jaunts when she is meant to be dedicated to a task. And once she is gone, nothing can bring her back until she chooses. Sometimes the little tramp is gone for days with Distraction.

And I need a chastity belt for her, because Ive tried everything else that I can think of.

I keep thinking that I’ll just wait for this thing, this task, or event, or habit, to pass me by…. and then things will be back to normal. But what is normal? This doesnt feel like normal, so it cant be. But Ive been waiting so long for everything to ‘get out of my way’, for me to exit the tornado, that Im not sure if normal really exists (or if the tornado does), or what it feels like when Ive found it.

**I do this, sometimes.

Grandpa

Grandpa

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For all of my adult life I have been gifted with an awareness of the external influence on my life. Of whisperings that guided me always, in the right direction, even if it seemed wrong in the beginning.

Ive always known that since my grandpa’s death in 2001, he has watched over his eldest grandaughter with as much devotion as he showed all of his granchildren.

And Ive started to document the ways in which his helping hand has helped me to balance when I slipped. I will go into these in more detail at a later time.

Today:
On the weekend, my agent emailed to tell me that my modelling photos needed to be updated and Id be sure of securing more work if only I could provide her with something new to work with. Jimmy and I talked long and hard about my modelling that weekend. He wanted me to quit my job at the firm and pursue modelling more rigorously. He has ulterior motives for this I know, he watches me come home some nights so completely drained, hating my job, angry at the people I work with, and so utterly despondent, that he would almost suggest anything if only I came home happy. And he is convinced I could be the worlds greatest supermodel… oh bless him!
I know that I need new images, and I know that the potential for work is out there, but the reality is that there is SO much more I need to focus on to get through this year. Plus I need the right photographer, with the talent, to get new photos, and I havent got the money to pay them right now.

WELL. Today I received a phonecall from a man I worked with last year. His calendar was freeing up, and would I like to work with him?? Paid hourly, of course, and we can do images that would suit us both. BRILLIANT. Lovely new photos and a paycheck at the end of the day.

Thankyou Pa.


Blogs of Note. Part I

Blogs of Note. Part I

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“Better”, By Merlin Mann.
Original found here

Politics, celebrity gossip, business headlines, tech punditry, odd news, and user-generated content.

These are the chew toys that have made me sad and tired and cynical.
Each, in its own way, contributes to the imperative that we constantly expand our portfolio of shallow but strongly-held opinions about nearly everything. Then we’re supposed to post something about it. Somewhere.

From businesses we’ve never heard of, to countries we’ve never visited, to infants who’ve had the random misfortune to be born into a family that’s on TV — it’s all grist for obvious jokes and shortsighted commentary that, for at least a few minutes, helps both the maker and the consumer feel a little less bored, a little less vulnerable, and a little less disconnected. For a minute, anyway, it makes us feel more alive. Does me, anyway.

But, in my observation, the long-term effect of each of these can be surprisingly different.
What makes you feel less bored soon makes you into an addict. What makes you feel less vulnerable can easily turn you into a dick. And the things that are meant to make you feel more connected today often turn out to be insubstantial time sinks — empty, programmatic encouragements to groom and refine your personality while sitting alone at a screen.
Don’t get me wrong. Gumming the edges of popular culture and occasionally rolling the results into a wicked spitball has a noble tradition that includes the best work of of Voltaire, Dorothy Parker, Oscar Wilde, and a handful of people I count as good friends and brilliant editors. There’s nothing wrong with fucking shit up every single day. But you have to bring some art to it. Not just typing.

What worries me are the consequences of a diet comprised mostly of fake-connectedness, makebelieve insight, and unedited first drafts of everything. I think it’s making us small. I know that whenever I become aware of it, I realize how small it can make me. So, I’ve come to despise it.
With this diet metaphor in mind, I want to, if you like, start eating better. But, I also want to start growing a tastier tomato — regardless of how easy it is to pick, package, ship, or vend. The tomato is the story, my friend.

This doesn’t mean I’ll be liveblogging a lot of ham-fisted attempts to turn “everything” off. But it does mean making mindful decisions about the quality of any input that I check repeatedly — as well as any “stuff” I produce. Everything. From news sources to entertainment programming, and from ephemeral web content down to each email message I decide to respond to. The shit has to go, inclusive.

To be honest, I don’t have a specific agenda for what I want to do all that differently, apart from what I’m already trying to do every day:
- identify and destroy small-return bullshit;
- shut off anything that’s noisier than it is useful;
- make brutally fast decisions about what I don’t need to be doing;
- avoid anything that feels like fake sincerity (esp. where it may touch money);
- demand personal focus on making good things;
- put a handful of real people near the center of everything.

All I know right now is that I want to do all of it better. Everything better. Better, better.

To underscore, I have no plan to stop making dick jokes or to swear off ragging people who clearly have it coming to them. It’s just that it’s important to me to make world-class dick jokes and to rag the worthy in a way that no one is expecting. I want to become an evangelist for hard work and editing, and I want to get to a place where it shows in everything that I do, make, and share. Yes, even if it makes me sound like a fancy guy who just doesn’t get it. Fuck it.

So, yes. I am cutting way back on trips to the steam table of half-finished, half-useful, half-ideas that I both make and consume. And, with respect, I encourage you to consider doing the same; especially if that all-you-can-eat buffet of snark and streaming produces (or encourages) anything short of your “A” game.

If I’m not laughing at your joke, complimenting your insight, or leading the Standing O for something you spent 10 seconds pecking up on your phone, it may not be because I don’t get it; it may be because I think we’re both capable of better and just need to find the courage to say so. In as many characters as it takes.

By Merlin Mann at 43 Folders.
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From Within

From Within
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Feeling lost. Wanting to remain strong but buckling from within. Tired, used up and worn out. Feeling the age beyond my years, and wanting so desperately to find the energy that I need to push forward.

Reaching out and missing my mark, touching air, thick and sticky beneath my fingertips. It chokes my nose and throat with its depressive smear, blinding my eyes. It is dense, and screams with volatility. The cry is deafening. Mine would be too if I could but cry, but Im too scared to. How can I see through it when I don’t know what is on the other side? How can I aim for the light when I don’t know if it is the light I want?
Where is my stewardess? Waving her perfectly manicured hands to show me the neon lights that glow along the path to my exit. I can’t see the path, it is no longer where it once was. But it seems that everyone else can… Because they’ve already gone.
Why do they know how to exit? Why can they see through the mist? No, no wait. The smog. The all encompassing and noxious smog. It poisons me and as the days pass it tears small pieces from me, and I’m buckling from within.

Tired.
Used Up.
Worn Out.

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Resilience

Resilience


Resilience is a slippery term and is used in different ways by different people. Sometimes it is defined as an outcome, as in Fonagy’s frequently quoted definition: ‘normal development under difficult conditions’(1994). This definition, of course, begs a number of questions, not least what is ‘normal’.

Gilligan (1997) gives a definition that begins to address resilience as a process:
‘… qualities which cushion a vulnerable child from the worst effects of adversity in whatever form it takes and which may help a child or young person to cope, survive and even thrive in the face of great hurt and disadvantage’. (
Gilligan, 1997, p.l2)

For residential child care staff and social workers, the key word in this definition is ‘thrive’. It provides practitioners with the aim of aspiring to assist young people to achieve their full potential despite their circumstances.

Masten et al. (1990) focus on resilience as ‘the process of, capacity for, or outcome of successful adaptation despite challenging or threatening circumstances’. Here it is an adaptive quality that is highlighted, as Schofield (2001) suggests, resilient people have both an internal and external adaptive quality. For example if a young person has a failure at school he or she can reflect upon that internally and see it as a temporary set-back and can also seek external support, for example by asking a teacher for help with the next essay. It is this adaptive quality that appears to be an essential aspect of resilience. Resilient people, therefore, are those whose mental well-being is far better than might have been predicted given the adversities that they have encountered.

Resilience is not simply an absence of psychological symptoms despite having experienced adversity, it is the possession of a positive adaptive ability that enables a person to feel competent despite risky living conditions (Sagy and Dotan, 2001).

In summary, therefore, as stated in a recent comprehensive review of resilience as a concept for practice:
‘Resilient children are better equipped to resist stress and adversity, cope with change and uncertainty, and to recover faster and more completely from traumatic events or episodes’. (
Newman and Blackburn, 2002, p. 12)

Resilience is the ability to know where, how and when to use your energies to improve things for yourself and how to recruit help in that endeavour.

BRIGID DANIEL
Daniel, B. The Value of Resilience as a Concept for Practice in Residential Settings. Scottish Journal of Residential Child Care, February/March 2003
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Whine Less : Breathe More

Whine Less : Breathe More


Sometimes I get bogged down with the superficial. I stress about money, about my job, about my worth to others… things that don’t matter when youre dead.
I get anxious about my future and it manifests quickly in lack of sleep, irritability, disorientation, lack of focus and searing pains in my shoulders and back. I multitask too much, I get distracted, everything was due YESTERDAY and sometimes I get so busy…. I do nothing but shut down.

I have one goal for February… BE POSITIVE. My one aim for this month is to see the good in every situation. Every negative thought will come with a positive and annoying little pip-squeak sidekick that will simply not go away! :o ) That sidekick is called faith, hope, happiness, resolve, perseverance, and love.


“Fear less, hope
more; Eat less, chew more; Whine less, breathe more; Talk less, say more; Love
more, and all good things will be yours”

“The positive thinker sees the
invisible, feels the intangible, and achieves the
impossible.”

Look at the bright side!

I still have a job.
I enjoy the company of those I work with
Im still making more money than I ever have before (even with the across-company paycut)
Im healthy
My family are all safe
Im about to move into a house with my boyfriend
Im in love
Ive been entrusted with more responsibility at work
I have a new car that cost me nothing and I can explore my state even more
I have the truest friends
The weather is beautiful
Im performing better at school because Im passionate about it
My little sister is arriving very soon to spend time with me.
I have so many demons locked away that taught me the greatest life lessons
….and who I don’t have to battle anymore.

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Zaha Hadid hits the shoe market!

Zaha Hadid hits the shoe market!

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One of the architecture world’s most celebrated designers is Zaha Hadid and her organic shapes have found there way into shoes!!
A very interesting type of prolific shoe designer, Melissa (the brand), notorious for the plastic flexi-shoe (aka taking patent to the extreme) teams up with her to create amazing heels that look like they’d take a good hour to put on. But so pretty. The shoe is available in OZ in May… enough time to save? Mind you, judging by Melissa’s prices, it shoouldnt be too hard. *grin*

“The fluidity of our design combined perfectly with the technology of Melissa’s plastic, injecting pieces without closures or seals”


Much like her Performing Arts Centre in Abu Dhabi??? http://www.e-architect.co.uk/dubai/abu_dhabi_building.htm

Other amazing ‘plakky’ shoes here…. Im mentally shopping already! melissaaustralia.com.au