You are not your job

Also on my blog.

I watched The Fight Club again after several years and it was interesting that different aspects of the movie resonated with me this time than when I had first seen it. Probably because of where I am in my life right now vis-a-vis a decade ago.

There are a lot of gems in this well-scripted movie, but what stayed with me most was this piece of monologue from Brad Pitt:

You’re not your job. You’re not how much money you have in the bank. You’re not the car you drive. You’re not the contents of your wallet. You’re not your f*&%ing khakis.

Aren’t these, though, the things we identify our “selves” with the most? The brands, the paycheck, the number of rooms in a house, the front lawn, the backyard, the mortgage, the rent … but if these things don’t really matter then what does?

We judge people immediately by their titanium watches, their diamond earrings, their leather jackets. We nod our heads as they describe their professions. We “relate” with them when they talk about taxes, phone bills, and the rising cost of every consumable commodity. But do we ever look through to see the person they are?

Do we even look inward that way?

We let material things define us. Armani, Bebe, Gucci, Mercedes.

We let our jobs take over our lives.

We have no time for R&R and introspection because we’re so caught up in the “bling” of life.

We don’t look past the outer shell. We don’t seek answers. We don’t ask questions. We don’t think.

All we do is react.

We’ve let ourselves be shaped by things that don’t matter in the bigger scheme of life. Some people find their “calling” but a majority don’t even know the answer to “Who are you?” anymore. Not for anyone else, but for oneself.

And perhaps, most of us are ok with that. Perhaps, that’s how society can function “normally.” When folks don’t go out on a limb seeking answers. When people operate like machinery. Like puppets saying the same things in different languages. Pining for the same material comforts. Fighting for the same limited resources. Lusting. Hoarding.

Dying with just the clothes on their backs.

I’ve realized in the last two years that what makes me happiest are the simplest things in life. Things money can’t buy. Things corruption and greed can’t touch. Things like the twinkle in a person’s eyes. A baby’s toothless smile. The smell of the earth when it rains. A croaking frog. A blooming bud. The silence of the hills. The calmness of a lake. A sunset. Writing.

Satisfaction, I have found, comes from within. Peace follows closely behind.

It’s true that I am able to roam the world and enjoy its people and its beauty only because of the paycheck that comes with a 9-5 job. That monthly deposit to my bank account allows me to do the things I really love. But should I let it define who I am and what my life should be? Shouldn’t I let what I love define what I do?

There are things we want, and then there are things we need. Sometimes we confuse between the two.

It’s tough to let go of the lifestyle one has become used to, but it isn’t hard to review and let go of things that truly don’t matter.

This is your life and it’s ending one minute at a time.

You can choose to continue living it the only way you think you know how. Or you can ask the hard questions of your self and discover a way you never knew. In the process you might just find out who you really are.

Part Two - The Lesson

Part two of the post regarding the flatmates from hell, but the lesson within:

The Lesson

So the lesson is I shouldn't trust so easily? That kind of sucks...

….

There was no way I could continue paying the way for these two irresponsible socialites.

I spoke to my Aunt (the one who tells me to water the grass) who was also the leaseholder.

We decided it was time for them to go.

I was so intimidated by them however, I could not tell them.

Instead, I wrote  a letter which I left on the table serving up notice and a tally of the money that was owed and went to my Aunt’s for a few days.

The make-up artist called me up informing me that they had rights and they were not going anywhere.

The next day the flatmates had enjoyed another massive night out.

They had made a mockery of the apartment and spent the day in bed – zonked out of their brains.

There was no signs of them moving out of bed, let alone out of the apartment.

My Aunt decided we had to get the message through in a stronger fashion.

She played “Bad Cop” as we tried ringing them, then knocking on their door.

After they ignored our knocking and ringing my Aunt decided to open up their door.

They had not paid rent or any of the phone bills for an extended period of time and things were not working out.

Well, didn’t this go down a treat!

The Graphic Designer responded by grabbing his deodorant can and spraying it at my Aunt.

The Make-up artist got out of bed and started going off tap.

She came right up to my face and screeched “You are a dog, I have been nothing but nice to you!”

Her breath smelt of a big night out......

You can view the entire story over here 

And She Will

Friendship and faith are a lot alike. No matter what you call them, you just never give up believing.

    She sits upon rocking horse and rides the plains. She straddles the laughing brook and giggles as she weaves back and forth on its stepping stones. She jumps the cracks and plays hopscotch down the street’s concrete squares. She hurls herself down the hill until her legs abandon themselves to gravity and are no longer her own. She closes her eyes and spins in circles with outstretched arms until up is down and right is left. She lays outstretched in the grass, her chin in her hands bouncing her head in rhythm with hopping birds until she sees a bunny and then, of course, one must get up and hop. She is a thoroughbred waiting for the explosion of energy, muscles, instinct and grace. Give her a blanket or a toy horse or the cardboard center from a roll of paper towels or just a single crayon and scrap of paper and the world erupts in hours of magic, imagination and play. There is no song unworthy of her voice, especially songs played by the orchestra in her head.
    Years have paved over her Siddhartha’s tree. She’s forgotten how to straddle, weave, jump and hop. She shaves the legs she would scratch, bruise and scrape running through the woods. Her arms lift high for the next rung in the ladder of life. She no longer grabs the branch of a tree. Her rocking horse is steel, plastic and metal and without grace and instinct. She has grown up. She no longer sings.
    A neon light’s reflection captures her eye. A wild flower’s scent tickles her nose. The sound of a child’s laughter gives her goose bumps. She knows. She wakes up. She sees a tree. If I have but one get out of jail free card in life, if there is but one favor to call due, I would go all in and cash them out if I could be the ant on the ground to hear her when she whispers, and she will, “I am. I can. I will. I believe. Now.”
    She sits upon a rocking horse and rides the plains. She straddles the laughing brook and giggles as she weaves back and forth on its stepping stones. She jumps the cracks and plays hopscotch down the street’s concrete squares. She hurls herself down the hill until her legs abandon themselves to gravity and are no longer her own. She closes her eyes and spins in circles with outstretched arms until up is down and right is left. She lays outstretched in the grass, her chin in her hands bouncing her head in rhythm with hopping birds until she sees a bunny and then, of course, one must get up and hop. She is a thoroughbred waiting for the explosion of energy, muscles, instinct and grace. Give her a blanket or a toy horse or the cardboard center from a roll of paper towels or just a single crayon and scrap of paper and the world erupts in hours of magic, imagination and play. There is no song unworthy of her voice, especially songs played by the orchestra in her head. She has grown in. She is the music she sings.


(also posted on my blog)

Toxic People!

Toxic people are easy to spot!

Toxic people are like vampires; they are charming, flattering and always there to give a hand. They are always on your side, understand your point of you (in the beginning) and then when you are under their spell, they suck you dry!

O.K. maybe that is a little dramatic, but in effect, a toxic friend is a vampire, in that they suck your energy. The toxic friend rings you up always with something important to tell you, has you on the phone all night, even though you are telling them that you need to go and make dinner,go to work, go to sleep, you're having a heart attack.

Nothing stops them from having their rant. When they are finally done they give a big sigh and tell you they feel much better now that they've had a chat. They praise what a brilliant friend you are and then hang up, without asking you whether you are well or not!

Totally drained you come off the phone feeling shell shocked and wondering whether that conversation actually happened! You have no more energy left for whatever you where in the midst of doing. Then later on you begin to feel guilty for thinking ill of your friend, and just think you are coming down with a bug, that is the reason you feel so drained. That's what good friends are for aren't they? to be there for your friend no matter what.

It may never occur to you that they are not there for you when you need them. Or if they are there they are not as helpful, as you would like. You feel indebted to them, feel like they are just feeling sorry for you and you feel bad that you are burdening them. They may listen to your worry for five minutes and then they switch to telling you about their problem (it's only fair they were listening to you) and they leave in a hurry to go out to a new restaurant with their new friends and don't feel any guilt about leaving you a wreak whilst they go and have fun.

For those who have never come across a toxic person, it may mean that you are actually a toxic friend yourself. Do you whinge, moan, criticize, put down, not draw breath whilst you are doing all the above? Do you think the world revolves round you and that you are a brilliant friend?

If the above rings true, then maybe, you can change your ways. May be, you can take time to listen to the friend that is always there for you. Maybe you can see the friend in a new light and offer real help, see things from their world for a change.

(An article I published on Helium.com)

Chronic lying and the fallout.

If you have a relationship with a chronic liar, you have more than likely become prey to a predatory personality. There is evidence in nature that there are survival reasons for developing deceptive behaviors; animals that employ camouflage as a technique for survival is an example everyone is familiar with. At the basic animal, survival level, this was a practice that needed to be developed but when you are talking about the evolution of human consciousness, these practices that at one time were survival behaviors, when taken to the extreme and allowed to continue to develop beyond what is in balance, they become misbehavior and compulsions, addictions, and even pathologies.

The affects on a person who has become prey to a liar in a close relationship develops into confusion and self- doubt in the victim because this is what the predator uses to weaken their prey. The liar will project all of their behavior onto the other and work at systematically tearing their prey down so that they have no resistance. A predatory personality is very calculating when they go about choosing their prey, they will seek out those in whom they detect weaknesses that they can prey upon easily and then go about their work.

Those who become prey to a chronic liar in any serious, long term relationship will have a difficult time getting themselves out of the cloud of confusion they find themselves in. The most difficult and the most important step you will have to take is to find a way to have faith in yourself again and take the step on the road toward self-love. Your first step won’t be self-love, it will be more visceral - it will be self-preservation. Just as the chronic liar is going to have to be the person who comes to the conclusion that they want to end the cycle of destruction and self-destruction, the victim needs to bring themselves to this place as well. This is the first decision anyone makes toward recovery.

I've been covering the subject of chronic lying and the effects that come about at the personal relationship level at my blog The Evolving Spirit . I am continuing the series as I move into steps one can take toward overcoming this problem and moving toward recovery. I am compelled to write about this issue at this time because I feel it is becoming epidemic in our society not only at the personal level but in society as a whole. The first step toward affecting the larger consciousness as a whole has to begin at the individual, personal level.

The Make-up Artist

This is also on my website 


Challenging experiences and mean people?  I've had my share. We all have.Sometimes we can hold grudges that last a lifetime, that eat away at us and cause us all sorts of grief and illness.
I spent my twenties charging from one challenging person to the next.
While I was never short of a dramatic story to tell my friends - my life was problematic and full of anxiety!
It is only now that I realise that I was the challenging person and the "horrible people" were actually my teachers disguised as ... well... disguised as some of the biggest A-holes I have ever met!
A friend recently asked me why it took me so long to learn the lessons I had to learn in my 20's and why I kept getting myself into tricky situations. Once upon a time I put it down to being unlucky, poor me, why me...
I see it differently now.
I've  done a complete turnaround from plotting evil revenge strategies (in my head) upon these people, to wanting to high five them for teaching me some great life lessons early on so I can get on with it now...
Part one : My Teachers - Behind the Make-up
I could hardly believe it when my Aunt let me take over the lease on her Bondi Beach apartment.
Directly opposite.
This was living the dream. Now all I had to do was find a flatmate or two.

View from my roof...

Easy right?
I placed an ad in the paper. For some reason I was flooded with couples wanting to move in.
Not exactly what I had in mind, but at the end of the day it came down to an Aussie couple and a couple of English backpackers who I thought mightn't stay for long, nor help me out with any furniture.
I let the Aussie couple move in.
She was over six foot tall with a slightly odd but striking look.  She seemed glamorous, friendly and intimidating all at once.
She told me she was a make-up artist, and that she liked my shoes.
Immediately I imagined nights hanging out at home learning how to achieve the  smoldering and smoky effect with my eyes.  She would teach me fashion and style tricks and I would meet loads of her cool friends.
He was a lot younger than her.
A graphic designer who had  featured in a upmarket beer ad in one of the men's mags.  He looked like a typical surfy type and was a little goofy, but somehow,  cool.
Having only been in Sydney a short while it felt like this couple epitomised the 'cool' of Bondi that I was eager to be part of.
Without asking any questions I told the couple they could move in.
"Fantastic!" she said "We can move in tomorrow"
I got up early the next day and started making room in the linen cupboard,  I swept the floor and even bought some lovely smelling oil burners.
After lighting up the oil burner I realised I needed some milk and I ducked down to the shops.
When I returned the oil burner had started burning out of hand. The wall was completely singed.  SHIT. I was trying to make things nice, not burn the place down!
In hindsight, I take this as a warning sign.
A few hours later the Makeup artist and the Graphic Designer arrived.
I didn't have to tell them to make themselves at home. They did. Rather quickly.
Within a few hours the lounge room was rearranged with artwork and beanbags, the bathroom was invaded by an army of cosmetics and  my answering machine message on the phone? Deleted and replaced.
It wasn't until I asked for the bond money and they told me it was in the freezer that the warning bells started to chime.
Who had I allowed to move into my apartment, no questions asked based purely on their knack with eyeliner and their 'groovy' credentials?
The glamorous persona's they had created so magically were quickly debunked. She worked at the make-up counter at Myer. He, was unemployed. Just skated and surfed all day - his magazine gig was about two years ago and it was a one-off.
Though I am not sure of it, he may have been dealing drugs for a living.
They had dinner parties and had friends over often. Many times I would be too intimidated to step out of my bedroom and so would stay in there all night.
Often they hadn't paid rent for weeks giving me some genuine story and then I would see them dining with friends in upmarket Bondi Restaurants while I was scraping it together to get to work because I was covering their rent.
This continued for a while. I was a timid little thing and intimidated by this manipulative couple.
One night just off the bus from work I noticed the two artists in a restaurant with friends. They saw me walk pass and waved me in. I was annoyed at this point because I had to borrow money from a friend to get the bus home and here they were dining out no expense spared.
I sat down and had a glass of water.
The Make-up Artist turned to me and said "Would you be a doll and run up and get me some cigs" as she handed me a $10 note.
I took her $10, left the restaurant and felt my entire body become enveloped in a hot rage. The way she patronised me, the way they sat there and ordered more bottles of wine - THEY OWE ME TWO MONTHS RENT!
The camels back snapped there and then.
I was being taken for one big nasty ride here and they knew exactly what they were doing...
to be continued

The art and language of comfies

We all have those days. You know the ones; usually a weekend day or a week night where you don't have any particular place to be and don't feel like being particularly productive. Household chores and responsibilities outside the house can be blithely relegated to the back burner and you declare it a Comfie Day. Comfie Days, obviously, require comfie attire. That can span the gamut from disreputable jeans or cut-offs (if it's warm weather) and a t-shirt that has seen better days, to sweats that are loose and soft, to yoga attire that is more form fitting but equally soft and comfortable. If you're a guy in a relationship, you may find your personal closet lightened by a few dress shirts or t-shirts that your significant other has claimed for her comfie days.


If I'm the one declaring a Comfie Day, then you can pretty much bet that there will be one of two things involved during winter months - fuzzy socks or critter slippers. Summertime comfie attire is completely different, but as we're still winding down the cold weather months, I'm focusing on the warmer version of comfie attire.

I've frequently wondered, since they hit the retail market, who in the world invented fuzzy socks. They're a marvelous product! The concept of kicked back, comfortable lounge wear reached new heights of comfie-ness when these socks were born. They take chenille, flannel, and other soft materials and relegate them to the annals of history for what used to be comfies. Fuzzy socks, simply, rule the world for cold weather comfie status. They are thick, soft, fuzzy (of course) and come in a wide range of zany colors and patterns. Some even have those little rubberized skid-proof patterns fused to the bottom to prevent you from slipping on slick flooring surfaces.

Better yet, they are very affordable and can be found at most drug stores and larger chain retail stores. For those of you old enough to remember Toe Socks from the late 1970's, yes, my friends, there are now Fuzzy Toe Socks. That's one trend I doubt I'll embrace, as I remember how uncomfortable Toe Socks really are to wear, but I know that teen girls the world over are probably in raptures over Fuzzy Toe Socks! There's a fuzzy sock mania going on these days, and I, for one, hope it never dies down!

Moving on to critter slippers - this is another pinnacle in comfie status. I rarely mix fuzzy sockedness with critter slippers because I'm fairly warm natured and wearing both make my feet feel smothered. I also never wear fuzzy socks with shoes because they're so thick and plush that my toes get squished inside my shoes. One or the other is my choice, but I realize I may be unusual in that regard. There may be many who wear fuzzy socks outside the house; I wear them in lieu of slippers.

When I do choose slippers over fuzzy socks, my slippers are of the critter variety. I have one pair of the half-slipper, backless kind that my Mom got me years ago and these have baby lambs on them. Baby lambs complete with ridiculous, flirty eyes with long lashes and equally absurd long, floppy ears with pink satin inside, soft fleecy, lamb-ish fur outside. When I walk, the lamb's ears flap and wag, adding all sorts of hilarity to my sashay.

My ultimate comfie punctuation, of course, are my Snoopy ™ slippers. If you know me at all, you know I am a Snoopy fan and have a genuine appreciation for the Peanuts™ brand of humor. Again, a gift from my Mom, they are wonderful! They are these big, poofy, marshmallowy kind of full slippers that keep my feet warm as well as appeal to my sense of comedy. Snoopy just makes a fashion statement of the best comfie kind and I wear these slippers proudly.

Okay, yes, I admit that this is perhaps more of a girl thing, embracing comfie-ness with fuzzy socks and critter slippers. Manly men have their version of laid back attire for a quiet day or evening at home, but rarely do they embrace fuzzy socks and critter slippers. That's more the territory of women who are not afraid to embrace their inner child and delight in the pure silliness of being relaxed.

The best part about fuzzy socks and critter slippers is that they "go" with any and everything (well, within the confines of home, of course)! In fact, the more bizarre and absurd your fuzzy sock colors and designs, the better. When I was in my mid-twenties, I worked in a restaurant that had a very rigid dress code for the front of the house staff. Black slacks, white button down Oxford dress shirt, black tie and suspenders, black shoes for everyone, male and female alike. The one way we could express ourselves was through our socks, and I amassed a huge collection of colors and designs. Jump forward to present day and fuzzy socks are being created in equally unique designs and colors. Obviously this appeals to my sense of humor and once again, I am expressing myself with the language of socks. Critter slippers are just a happy adjunct of that theme.

Why choose something of this nature for a blog article? Because I feel that mental and emotional health can be addressed and catered to with humor and a dash of irreverance at times. Taking time for ourselves and just being relaxed and free in whatever expression that appeals to us is important in the grand scheme of things.

Something that I have always found of interest is that men like women in comfie attire! I've taken informal surveys over the years about this with close male friends, and also with men I've been in relationships with and surprisingly, the overall consensus is that laid back, no makeup, hair in a ponytail, wearing comfortable clothes and the odd splash of personality via socks or slippers look is when they all find us ladies to be at our most attractive. That never ceases to amaze me.

Granted, men are always appreciative when we do the full, glamourous, girlie presentation, done up to the nines for a night out on the town. But from the informal surveys I've taken, it is when we are relaxed and not trying to impress anyone that our true beauty shines most brightly. This always makes me smile, because it is true for everyone, regardless of embracing any fuzzy sockedness or critter slipper humor.

The art of comfies will vary from person to person, from season to season, from age to age. Not everyone will "get" your personal application of comfie-ness. That isn't important; what matters is that your particular brand of comfie-ness gives you joy and allows you to completely relax, be yourself and find that inner glow of peace and contentment.

Spring is approaching and my fuzzy socks and critter slippers will be relegated to the winter clothing storage section of my closet. Comfie attire will shift to yoga style clothing and oversized shirts with cutoff shorts. Bare feet with cute pedicures will rule the warmer months of the calendar. Flip flops and pretty sandals will be the form of expression that is embraced.

The art of comfies are simply an extension of who we each are, deep down inside. If you look closely at that comfy attire, it will tell a unique story and if you ask questions, will spark a fascinating conversation a good 90% of the time. Moving days, rehabs of furniture or additions to a home will be told in the form of tears in fabric, paint stains or ragged hems. Clothing that should be banished to the rag bin or garbage will be held onto for those warm memories and brought out on comfie days to give voice to that inner contentment we all have deep inside.

As a story teller, I am always captured by other peoples' comfies, and I will always be the one asking questions about that intriguing dash of outlandish style you have chosen to wear when you are the most genuinely relaxed. It gives me an open door to learn beautiful, profound things about who you are at your most authentic level. Comfies will definitely be different from one person to the next, but what is true for all of us is that our comfies define us in a very elemental manner.

Who says each day should be rigid and formulaic in clothing? Embrace your unique comfie-ness, I say! It is a slightly different version of the old standard of "Let your light shine"! So, shine on in comfie-ness, my friends, and give voice to your own laid back contentment.

*Disclaimer: Mention of Snoopy ™ and Peanuts™ brands in this article are not meant to indicate, imply or suggest monetary compensation of any form was received by the blog author.*
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If you liked this article, you can read more at Healing Morning blog.