Following the end of the 12 week program, Growing Strengths, Self-Belief and Superpowers, I thought I would feel nothing but relief. It was a full-on program, requiring weekly tweeks and okay yes, some complete rewrites of the original plan, to respond to the unique needs of this group of women. I enjoyed the challenges and the learning that came with the effort. Hence the anticipated relief after week 12. However, I find a pocket of despondence within.
There are a few prongs to my feelings. First, there is something quite amazing about watching a group of people transform. To witness brains absorb new material, see life in new ways, have moments of AHA, and moments of unstoppable grief, is a precious gift. From these moments, the brain creates new pathways, pathways to conscious living, to mindfulness in every aspect of their living, to choosing what is important and how to act by those choices, to empowered living, to becoming clear about what they want out of life.
Second, we had a bit of fun! I miss that. We bounced between serious moments of dismantling previous assumptions to imagining the most outlandish futures, and even poking some fun at each other. How serious and sad would life be without some fun to balance our struggles.
And the third reason for my despondence is because I'm missing that stumulation to think again about my own life. We can't ever go wrong having a look over our lives, our values, our beliefs, how we speak to ourselves, what guides our decisions, and what goals we are working towards. I think of my cluttered desk and study that I recently took apart and put together again with all the items I want rather than what had suited me at one time or another.
Now I take my thoughts and put them through another kind of workout, and okay yes, I am putting my family through some of the workout too. This weekend we are doing our own vision board workshop. What could be more fun than considering our lives and future, looking through inspiring magazines, cutting out meaningul phrases and pictures, assembling and pasting them in some amazing way to inspire ourselves and give us exciting pathways to work towards? Front and centre of my board will be the word: FUN. Where does it sit in your vision of your life, and what does that word mean to you?
Let me know!
Wednesday, 9 November 2016
Thursday, 5 May 2016
An Imagination Workout
A client last week had a decision to make and was finding it difficult. Not a major life decision, but one that would impact upon several areas of her life. I pulled out some blank paper and told her to write down or draw all the things that were important to her. I sat back and let her imagination take over. Once she finished, we then looked at the decision and checked how it stacked up against what she had determined were the most important things in her life. The decision became obvious to her, and she announced it with great personal satisfaction and complete ownership.
This week it was my turn. I have been putting off a decision for a good month or more, and today was the last chance I had to make it or tuck my tail between my legs and lay blame elsewhere: my to-do list, my family, my bank, my pet, my pen that ran out - you know, anywhere but with me. I'm a coach! I can't admit to a lack of skills, smarts, esteem, ability to manage myself! I thought back to my amazing client and decided I could do with my own imagination workout. I got out a large blank scrapbook I use for brainstorming, found a coloured pen with ink, and started to write. Wow, what an exercise! I thought I knew what was important in a vague, nebulous kind of way, but to see the words right there on paper: Wow. And it wasn't just the words, it was where some of the words overlapped, where patterns became visible, that really impressed upon me what truly pulled my heartstrings.
Something else that happened this week to guide my next decision. A friend of mine was telling me how sick to death she was of her boyfriend's mess, and how she recently announced to him that she would no longer visit him at his home or spend weekends with him there. No attack, no manipulation, no aggression. A simple but profound statement that said, What I need is important too, and this is my decision. I was so impressed.
And so I announced to my family who were blaring Prince's music and doing their thing on a Saturday morning that I was going to the library. No fights about my need for quiet, or being a martyr and whining about how little my needs mean, or demanding more support. (I know, I know, pathetic!) I felt empowered and that I had edged closer to an item on my list: self mastery. Ahhh, now doesn't that have a nice ring to it?
Thursday, 22 October 2015
Crazed to Unfazed
Did you know it's official? Trees reduce stress. What people have innately understood since the dawn of time has now been funded and scientifically tested so that we have evidence based proof. Now we can take it seriously. The University of Wisconsin's School of Medicine and Public Health in 2014 receive funding to explore the impact of nature on people, and found that “higher levels of green space were associated with lower symptoms of anxiety, depression and stress.” No matter the income level, the more green around you, the happier you are. Surprised?
I recommend that someone funds the planting of a serious number of trees on the school drop-off routes. The craze with which drivers race in and out of lanes and rush through lights astounds me. I was rear-ended last week when I had to hit the brakes turning right through an orange light because the car that I expected to stop instead gunned his engine and raced through. A crunch behind me propelled me forward. Argh! More trees please! When the driver got out of his car to inspect damage with me, he apologised straight away and confessed he was in such a rush he hadn't noticed the other car running the light. It could have been a 3 car crash, I reasoned to myself, as my cortisone levels hovered up with the tree tops.
Those incredible stress hormones that flood our body when stress occurs, originally to prepare us for fight or flight, can make us stronger or faster than we normally are. Sounds pretty good, right? The hormones prepare every system in our body to deal with a threat - our hearts beat faster and pump more blood, our lungs speed up to increase oxygen, muscles tense in preparation, our nervous system becomes super alert. Pretty amazing. However, these days the typical citizen gets stressed out all the time. Our poor bodies are constantly fighting wild animals and running from sabre tooth tigers. Or facing morning traffic and a host of self-imposed stresses, including caffeine and sugar, and incidents we deem sufficient to freak over (like being late) which trigger similar effects.
The results of high levels of stress are not good. Our nerves are shot, we become more susceptible to heart disease and diabetes, there's an increased risk of panic attacks, asthmatics can get into trouble if the body demands more oxygen and the lungs cannot provide it, injuries can be exacerbated, constant headaches, tension...we become exhausted, physically and mentally, and grow more impatient and cranky each day.
Recently I saw a film called The Connection, which documents the evidence based information to prove that meditation is good for you, and can in fact have huge positive consequences for us, like switching genes on and off, aiding in the management of chronic pain, impacting upon our mental and physical selves in a range of wonderful ways, even stimulating areas of our brain that we otherwise are unable to. It's a simple activity that requires no degree, no equipment, no travel, no teacher, nothing more than a quiet spot to sit and just breathe. I have found the effects to be quite wonderful. And peaceful. Just what I need to share the road with crazed out petrol heads whacked out on caffeine, running late and determined to butt in, cut off, squeeze past and drive on my bumper to make me go faster.
I challenge you to experiment on yourself. Start with just a couple of minutes in the morning and evening. Never mind the thoughts that come and go. Let them go and come back to your breath. I'd wager you'll soon find a couple of minutes is not enough. Maybe we should meditate while leaning on a tree.
Whatever works to support a more peaceful way of living suits me fine. What works for you?
Monday, 2 March 2015
The Brain Catch
I was out for dinner with some close friends the other night and we were discussing those teenage days when we watched horror films with terrified excitement. I remember crazy sleepovers at my home with everyone trying to scare each other silly by wrenching someone out of sleep with light claw scrapes across our cheek. Oh how I wished I had never seen any of those films.
Why not, I hope you ask. Well, I'll let you in on a secret. Our amazing brains cannot tell the difference between what is imagined and what is real. Isn't that the delight of horror films, or perhaps all films? We get all caught up in the emotional terror (romance/excitement) of the main character from the safety of our couch. Have you ever tried to tell a five-year-old not to be afraid of Captain Cook or the boogie monster because he isn't real? Yeah, they don't get it. They are emotionally worked up into a feverish state of pure fear. There is no logic that will work to talk them out of it.
If we imagine something, then our brain works away to make it possible. Athletes use this technique all the time to picture themselves making the perfect movement. Lots of successful people visualise themselves making the exact speech or deal they want. Or imagine themselves already in the role that they desire. Our subconcious then connects the pathways to make what we imagine totally possible. Within reason, of course. No matter how much I visualise, I don't think I will ever beat Mr Bolt in a running race. But I could set myself up with a new goal, picture it happening, and let the incredible energy of my mind tick away to create opportunities.
Tell me, what do you see when you imagine yourself five years down the track? What are you telling your brain will happen? Or not happen? There are many documented cases of spontaneous healing. Just read Dr Andrew Weil's book by that name, Spontaneous Healing. It's wonderfully inspiring. Do you imagine yourself plagued by illness? Or jumping out of bed with vitality? Are you still in a job that makes the ends meet, or can you see yourself loving a different job, perhaps doing something completely different or someplace totally new? Do you see yourself still struggling to have children, or surrounded by the smiling, joyful energy of kids? What about your life partner? Are you bickering and still at odds, or is your home filled with harmony and honest, open communication?
You will know what your heart needs and wants. If you don't, then take some time to listen to the silence. Your inner voice does know. Trust it. Find a style of meditation that works for you. Meditation is spiritual gold. Consider a life coach too. We have many tricks up our sleeves to spur your heart and mind into action. I know now as an adult that my imaginative brain did not need to see images of crazy lunatics spearing kids at camp or sinking helplessly into the sand. Those were images that I most certainly did not want ever to see manifested, or even know were possible. I have a lot more fun now imagining all sorts of things I do want to happen!
Why not, I hope you ask. Well, I'll let you in on a secret. Our amazing brains cannot tell the difference between what is imagined and what is real. Isn't that the delight of horror films, or perhaps all films? We get all caught up in the emotional terror (romance/excitement) of the main character from the safety of our couch. Have you ever tried to tell a five-year-old not to be afraid of Captain Cook or the boogie monster because he isn't real? Yeah, they don't get it. They are emotionally worked up into a feverish state of pure fear. There is no logic that will work to talk them out of it.
If we imagine something, then our brain works away to make it possible. Athletes use this technique all the time to picture themselves making the perfect movement. Lots of successful people visualise themselves making the exact speech or deal they want. Or imagine themselves already in the role that they desire. Our subconcious then connects the pathways to make what we imagine totally possible. Within reason, of course. No matter how much I visualise, I don't think I will ever beat Mr Bolt in a running race. But I could set myself up with a new goal, picture it happening, and let the incredible energy of my mind tick away to create opportunities.
Tell me, what do you see when you imagine yourself five years down the track? What are you telling your brain will happen? Or not happen? There are many documented cases of spontaneous healing. Just read Dr Andrew Weil's book by that name, Spontaneous Healing. It's wonderfully inspiring. Do you imagine yourself plagued by illness? Or jumping out of bed with vitality? Are you still in a job that makes the ends meet, or can you see yourself loving a different job, perhaps doing something completely different or someplace totally new? Do you see yourself still struggling to have children, or surrounded by the smiling, joyful energy of kids? What about your life partner? Are you bickering and still at odds, or is your home filled with harmony and honest, open communication?
You will know what your heart needs and wants. If you don't, then take some time to listen to the silence. Your inner voice does know. Trust it. Find a style of meditation that works for you. Meditation is spiritual gold. Consider a life coach too. We have many tricks up our sleeves to spur your heart and mind into action. I know now as an adult that my imaginative brain did not need to see images of crazy lunatics spearing kids at camp or sinking helplessly into the sand. Those were images that I most certainly did not want ever to see manifested, or even know were possible. I have a lot more fun now imagining all sorts of things I do want to happen!
Saturday, 7 February 2015
Evaluating Our Values
A few weeks ago I applied for a position in a wellness centre. As part of the application process I had to answer in writing several questions, one of which was, 'What are your top three values?'
In my coaching studies we did an hour-long webinar and lots of reading on values and beliefs as it is a key skill of coaching: to tune into a client's own values and beliefs, highlighting ones that empower the realisation of their best selves and identifiying limiting ones that get in their way. As these values are often unconscious, they can become outdated and even obstacles as we grow and shift on our life's journey.
I found it a challenging exercise to turn the focus inward to look at myself. It's not a common item on my to-do list. Is it on yours? Off the top of my head my list of values to choose from was pretty limited so I did a quick internet search and found hundreds of lists in all different styles and formats.
The advice I found when cruising sites was to look for ones that 'jumped' out at me. Imagining my new position and clients, I then plucked out three words: independence (why I was looking for a position), courage (what I needed to take this step), and respect (pretty obvious, I think!).
I felt quite satisfied with my choices, not only for the application but also because I felt I got to know myself a little better, and I quite liked what those values said to me about me. One thing that has struck home with me throughout my studies is that if I am to see the magnificence in every client, then I must also be able to see it in myself. As Anthony Robbins succenctly stated, 'The most important opinion a person will ever hold is the one they hold about themselves.'
To know what we stand for anchors us in our truth. Understanding our values and beliefs is an important part of self development on our journey to living our best life. They can guide our decisions, and they can be chopped and changed as our goals shift as we hurtle through our various life stages.
Find a list (the one I used is here) and look for words that jump out at you, keeping in mind your current goals. Chew them over. Do they fit? Are there others that you think you would prefer? A new phase of life can easily require a new set of principles. An offered position as a CEO with huge demands and commitments is hardly the time to prioritise more time at home with a partner or family. Values are essential to keep in mind when making decisions and to help prioritise actions. If my goals are wealth and productivity, it's probably not the best choice to join a girls' weekend away shopping in the big city.
Just in case you're interested, I never heard back from the wellness centre. After the first week I sent a follow-up email, after two weeks I decided to drop by the centre and check it out, pretending that I was a potential client. Lovely place. Great location. Not a soul there except the owner and colleague at lunch time on a weekday. Perhaps they are looking way ahead at a long range forecast. Or perhaps their values just aren't in aligment with mine. Whatever. A door will open soon enough. Especially with my newly tailored list of values to guide me.
In my coaching studies we did an hour-long webinar and lots of reading on values and beliefs as it is a key skill of coaching: to tune into a client's own values and beliefs, highlighting ones that empower the realisation of their best selves and identifiying limiting ones that get in their way. As these values are often unconscious, they can become outdated and even obstacles as we grow and shift on our life's journey.
I found it a challenging exercise to turn the focus inward to look at myself. It's not a common item on my to-do list. Is it on yours? Off the top of my head my list of values to choose from was pretty limited so I did a quick internet search and found hundreds of lists in all different styles and formats.
The advice I found when cruising sites was to look for ones that 'jumped' out at me. Imagining my new position and clients, I then plucked out three words: independence (why I was looking for a position), courage (what I needed to take this step), and respect (pretty obvious, I think!).
I felt quite satisfied with my choices, not only for the application but also because I felt I got to know myself a little better, and I quite liked what those values said to me about me. One thing that has struck home with me throughout my studies is that if I am to see the magnificence in every client, then I must also be able to see it in myself. As Anthony Robbins succenctly stated, 'The most important opinion a person will ever hold is the one they hold about themselves.'
To know what we stand for anchors us in our truth. Understanding our values and beliefs is an important part of self development on our journey to living our best life. They can guide our decisions, and they can be chopped and changed as our goals shift as we hurtle through our various life stages.
Find a list (the one I used is here) and look for words that jump out at you, keeping in mind your current goals. Chew them over. Do they fit? Are there others that you think you would prefer? A new phase of life can easily require a new set of principles. An offered position as a CEO with huge demands and commitments is hardly the time to prioritise more time at home with a partner or family. Values are essential to keep in mind when making decisions and to help prioritise actions. If my goals are wealth and productivity, it's probably not the best choice to join a girls' weekend away shopping in the big city.
Just in case you're interested, I never heard back from the wellness centre. After the first week I sent a follow-up email, after two weeks I decided to drop by the centre and check it out, pretending that I was a potential client. Lovely place. Great location. Not a soul there except the owner and colleague at lunch time on a weekday. Perhaps they are looking way ahead at a long range forecast. Or perhaps their values just aren't in aligment with mine. Whatever. A door will open soon enough. Especially with my newly tailored list of values to guide me.
Thursday, 22 January 2015
The First Hurdle
New Year’s Hurdle 1
Marina stopped short when she entered the bedroom. Would she ever get used to that huge treadmill, looming at her like a bear? She could still see the impressions left from the cross trainer that sat for two years before it morphed into this treadmill. Her lovely morning sea green carpet. She sighed and reminded herself that it was just carpet. One day when this contraption died and went to neglected machine heaven she could put a pretty rug on top to hide the scars. Her foot kicked out behind her to swing the door closed. It rattled against the frame, Malcolm’s belts slung over the door handle tapping against the wood. Marina bent down and picked up a pair of shoes parked at the side of the bed, her side of the bed, no less, and chucked them into his side of the closet. She had borne two children but felt like she was raising three. The bed beckoned like a siren to a sailor and she plopped down. She shoved several pillows behind her back and wiggled into a supported upright position, her legs crossed and hands cupped in her lap. With a big sigh, she closed her eyes. I will learn to meditate, I will learn to meditate, I will learn to meditate, she whispered to herself. A shout from the lounge room made her eyes pop open.
“You stupid ump! What an idiot! Where’d you get your license from? A happy meal? Just bloody great. Unbelievable. Just unbelievable. You should have seen that call, Marina. He called it wide! Wide, my ass.”
Marina sighed again. “I’m trying to meditate,” she called back.
“Why don’t you walk on the treadmill?” he yelled.
Marina looked outside. The sun shone brightly. There were birds hopping all over her garden, eating the snails, she hoped. If she wanted exercise she would go out and do it where she could see the trees rattling in the breeze and feel the earth beneath her feet. The beach was only a twenty-minute walk away. She couldn’t understand why he wanted to traipse on a moving belt inside the house where all he could see was the bed.
She closed her eyes again. It was a new year, and she was not going to have a repeat of last year. She might implode, otherwise. Is this what a midlife crisis feels like? Another year of same old same old and a week on a beach on some tropical island because it was cheaper than a week anywhere else in Australia? She couldn’t possibly survive.
In, out. In, out. Peace. Joy. Love. In, out.
“Come on, you imbecile! Just play! Leave our guys alone. Oh go back to training camp! Can you believe that? Look at him all worked up like a toddler! How did he make the team? Marina? You should see what they’re doing. Well, if it’s too hot for you, go home!”
Marina’s breaths came faster and more forcefully. In. Out. In. Out. She suddenly realised her eyes were squished shut and her fists were clenched. Sure signs of total relaxation. She sighed again and opened her eyes. The treadmill stared back at her. Marina leaned backed and looked up. “Ok, I need some help here. Please guide me somewhere new,” she whispered.
“Yes! Finally! Now that’s how you play cricket!”
The urge to beat her head against the wall was so strong she could barely stop herself. Tears sprang to her eyes. “Quickly!” she added. “Please. Anyone out there?” She waited a moment, listening and watching for some message, some word, some inkling, a lightening bolt, something…something to shake things up. She repeated the word ‘shake’. Her legs swung over the side of the bed and she sat up, ready to consign herself like laundry to another cycle, another year.
It could be worse, she chided herself. At least she had her health, her parents had theirs, she had two healthy kids who grew up pretty well adjusted, she had a nice home, a nice husband, lived in a nice neighbourhood, had a nice job with nice people. She ran to the ensuite and vomited into the toilet. Thank God she’d cleaned it the day before or she’d ralph again if she saw a pubic hair on it or smelled urine.
Mouth wiped and rinsed she sat down on the tiles and leaned back against the cool wall. She could see past the walk-through closet into the bedroom and amazingly could not see the hulking form of that treadmill. Buck, she’d call it. Short for that bloody fucking machine. It was interesting to see her things from a different perspective. She looked up at her closet. Some spiderwebs dangled in the corners. At the bottom of the stack of pants she could see jeans she hadn’t worn in a very long time. They were faded yellow. Coloured jeans had come back in style and she’d forgotten that they were even up there. Marina shoved herself up, spat one more time into the toilet, flushed, and moved for the jeans. She lifted the stack above and pulled on the yellow pants. As she did, a book slid out and dropped onto her foot.
“Yow!” she barked, bending down to retrieve it. She gasped. It was a travel guide to Italy. Printed, she knew without looking, in 1986, the year she graduated from uni. The year she took off to travel Europe with a girlfriend. The year she met Antonio. Her heart stopped for a moment. Or maybe it raced instead. She couldn’t be sure but she felt her chest squeeze. Beautiful Antonio, with his loose curls and smiling brown eyes, and those crazy shoes he clopped around the village in, tall and sure of himself and his place in the world. Marina floated over to the bed and sank down. She dropped the jeans and held the book to her heart. She looked up. “Thank you,” she said, although she wasn’t sure what for except for the wonderful feeling that had erupted in her heart. “Antonio,” she whispered. She cracked the book open delicately, like a pressed flower that might turn to dust. There in the middle was a postcard. She’d forgotten about that too. She flipped it over without seeing the picture. There were his words, written to her. ‘Please come back. I will wait for you. I miss you. Love, Antonio.’ Why couldn’t she remember this postcard? When she thought about it, she couldn’t even remember making a conscious decision not to go back to him. Why didn’t she? She could have been an Italian wife, living on the beautiful Adriatic coast speaking the most beautiful language in the world and eating the most fantastic food.
That’s it, she determined to herself, this is the action I need to take to shake up this life of mine. She put the card back in the book and tucked it under her pillow. She strode out of the bedroom, belt buckles be damned if they mark the door as they rattled as she passed. She marched down the hall to her oldest child’s room and found her iPad, fully charged, under the edge of the bed. She got so tired of finding her iPad completely flat that she’d taken a charger and hidden it. Now she always knew where to find it when she wanted it. He had his own anyway, so why he even needed hers was beyond her.
She sank down on the floor and swiped it on. First she wondered how much it would be to fly to Italy. She had her own account balance. She could do this. She didn’t need permission. She was an adult. The webjet page came up and she spent several minutes trying different days and months and flights to see what she could find. The further away the date, the cheaper the flight. It would be part of the excitement to anticipate the departure date, so she decided six months away would be fine. She left that window and opened another. She wondered what Antonio looked like now. She imagined his hair greying at the temples. He wondered if might have acquired a bit of a belly too, but she knew he’d still stand tall and proud. No doubt he was still living in the same town and working for his father. Both sons followed their father into the legal profession. What was the brother’s name? He was a few years older and she hadn’t got to know him so well. Massimo, that was it. She smiled to herself. She could feel adrenalin surging through her body, so much of it that her fingers shook. She typed Antonio’s name into Google and hit enter. Maybe he was widowed, or divorced, and when they met again it would be just like old times, the same old flame, that crazy desire that plagues teenagers. She could feel herself get excited in anticipation. Ohmigod! She saw his name. Dozens of entries. She clicked on them one by one. No photos, but the address of the law firm and confirmation that he still worked at the family business. Even a map! She could just appear at the door. Would he recognise her? She clicked on the White pages, Yellow pages, and every search engine out there. She tried Facebook with no luck. No doubt he wanted his privacy. Lawyers, clients, couldn’t have his face and family all out there, could he? Marina remembered how sexy her name sounded when it rolled off his tongue. Perhaps it was his warm brown eyes looking at her as he spoke that amplified the warmth of the memory. She sighed and closed her eyes. Gorgeous Antonio. Where are you, my love?
She scrolled down. LinkedIn! She called up her account and typed in his name. Ohmigod! He had an account, although it looked rather incomplete. There was no photo but there was an email address. Could she just email him after all this time? Dare she? She read over the bare bones of his history. It had to be him. University of Bari. She shifted on the floor, wiggling like an excited child. She drummed her fingers and coaxed herself to breath. She went back to the results page and scanned down the list. Twitter! He had a twitter account? She clicked on it. A photo! A picture! She held the iPad away from her face to better focus. Could that be him? On the water on some kind of boat. That would be like him. He’s holding his hand up. He sure had long fingers. But look at his face. He was bald! There was that fading ring around his head of thin brown hair. No curls. How could virile, beautiful Antonio be balding? He does have a tummy too. Look at that. Even through the oversized collared shirt he wore there was the distinct outline of a stomach.
Marina felt her own stomach clench. Or maybe it was her heart aching. Exhaustion suddenly descended on her. She clicked off the iPad and let it slide onto the floor as if it was too heavy to bother with. She felt a bit stunned, let down. How could the universe have let him go like that? Such beauty, such a force of energy. She knew she wasn't exactly Venus reborn, but still. Hair dye, Pilates and a dog that needed far more walks than she ever thought possible helped her to keep her shape. After two babies there wasn't a lot of perk left in her breasts, but she still considered herself energetic and competent.
She hauled herself up and left the room, closing the door gently behind her. She floated down the stairs in a daze and wandered into the lounge where Malcolm was eating a bowl of corn chips and salsa, and chasing them with a cold James Boag. She plopped down beside him on the couch.
He smiled over at her. “Want a beer or glass of wine? Have a corn chip.” He handed the bowl over to her. She looked at him, then studied his hair. He had nice hair. Thinner, and almost all grey, but still wavy and still there. He glanced away from her when the broadcaster’s tone of voice went up an octave in excitement.
“A glass of wine would be great,” she said. He stood up immediately and danced his way to the kitchen. “Anything for you, love.” Marina watched him go, then turned her attention to the cricket match.
Marina stopped short when she entered the bedroom. Would she ever get used to that huge treadmill, looming at her like a bear? She could still see the impressions left from the cross trainer that sat for two years before it morphed into this treadmill. Her lovely morning sea green carpet. She sighed and reminded herself that it was just carpet. One day when this contraption died and went to neglected machine heaven she could put a pretty rug on top to hide the scars. Her foot kicked out behind her to swing the door closed. It rattled against the frame, Malcolm’s belts slung over the door handle tapping against the wood. Marina bent down and picked up a pair of shoes parked at the side of the bed, her side of the bed, no less, and chucked them into his side of the closet. She had borne two children but felt like she was raising three. The bed beckoned like a siren to a sailor and she plopped down. She shoved several pillows behind her back and wiggled into a supported upright position, her legs crossed and hands cupped in her lap. With a big sigh, she closed her eyes. I will learn to meditate, I will learn to meditate, I will learn to meditate, she whispered to herself. A shout from the lounge room made her eyes pop open.
“You stupid ump! What an idiot! Where’d you get your license from? A happy meal? Just bloody great. Unbelievable. Just unbelievable. You should have seen that call, Marina. He called it wide! Wide, my ass.”
Marina sighed again. “I’m trying to meditate,” she called back.
“Why don’t you walk on the treadmill?” he yelled.
Marina looked outside. The sun shone brightly. There were birds hopping all over her garden, eating the snails, she hoped. If she wanted exercise she would go out and do it where she could see the trees rattling in the breeze and feel the earth beneath her feet. The beach was only a twenty-minute walk away. She couldn’t understand why he wanted to traipse on a moving belt inside the house where all he could see was the bed.
She closed her eyes again. It was a new year, and she was not going to have a repeat of last year. She might implode, otherwise. Is this what a midlife crisis feels like? Another year of same old same old and a week on a beach on some tropical island because it was cheaper than a week anywhere else in Australia? She couldn’t possibly survive.
In, out. In, out. Peace. Joy. Love. In, out.
“Come on, you imbecile! Just play! Leave our guys alone. Oh go back to training camp! Can you believe that? Look at him all worked up like a toddler! How did he make the team? Marina? You should see what they’re doing. Well, if it’s too hot for you, go home!”
Marina’s breaths came faster and more forcefully. In. Out. In. Out. She suddenly realised her eyes were squished shut and her fists were clenched. Sure signs of total relaxation. She sighed again and opened her eyes. The treadmill stared back at her. Marina leaned backed and looked up. “Ok, I need some help here. Please guide me somewhere new,” she whispered.
“Yes! Finally! Now that’s how you play cricket!”
The urge to beat her head against the wall was so strong she could barely stop herself. Tears sprang to her eyes. “Quickly!” she added. “Please. Anyone out there?” She waited a moment, listening and watching for some message, some word, some inkling, a lightening bolt, something…something to shake things up. She repeated the word ‘shake’. Her legs swung over the side of the bed and she sat up, ready to consign herself like laundry to another cycle, another year.
It could be worse, she chided herself. At least she had her health, her parents had theirs, she had two healthy kids who grew up pretty well adjusted, she had a nice home, a nice husband, lived in a nice neighbourhood, had a nice job with nice people. She ran to the ensuite and vomited into the toilet. Thank God she’d cleaned it the day before or she’d ralph again if she saw a pubic hair on it or smelled urine.
Mouth wiped and rinsed she sat down on the tiles and leaned back against the cool wall. She could see past the walk-through closet into the bedroom and amazingly could not see the hulking form of that treadmill. Buck, she’d call it. Short for that bloody fucking machine. It was interesting to see her things from a different perspective. She looked up at her closet. Some spiderwebs dangled in the corners. At the bottom of the stack of pants she could see jeans she hadn’t worn in a very long time. They were faded yellow. Coloured jeans had come back in style and she’d forgotten that they were even up there. Marina shoved herself up, spat one more time into the toilet, flushed, and moved for the jeans. She lifted the stack above and pulled on the yellow pants. As she did, a book slid out and dropped onto her foot.
“Yow!” she barked, bending down to retrieve it. She gasped. It was a travel guide to Italy. Printed, she knew without looking, in 1986, the year she graduated from uni. The year she took off to travel Europe with a girlfriend. The year she met Antonio. Her heart stopped for a moment. Or maybe it raced instead. She couldn’t be sure but she felt her chest squeeze. Beautiful Antonio, with his loose curls and smiling brown eyes, and those crazy shoes he clopped around the village in, tall and sure of himself and his place in the world. Marina floated over to the bed and sank down. She dropped the jeans and held the book to her heart. She looked up. “Thank you,” she said, although she wasn’t sure what for except for the wonderful feeling that had erupted in her heart. “Antonio,” she whispered. She cracked the book open delicately, like a pressed flower that might turn to dust. There in the middle was a postcard. She’d forgotten about that too. She flipped it over without seeing the picture. There were his words, written to her. ‘Please come back. I will wait for you. I miss you. Love, Antonio.’ Why couldn’t she remember this postcard? When she thought about it, she couldn’t even remember making a conscious decision not to go back to him. Why didn’t she? She could have been an Italian wife, living on the beautiful Adriatic coast speaking the most beautiful language in the world and eating the most fantastic food.
That’s it, she determined to herself, this is the action I need to take to shake up this life of mine. She put the card back in the book and tucked it under her pillow. She strode out of the bedroom, belt buckles be damned if they mark the door as they rattled as she passed. She marched down the hall to her oldest child’s room and found her iPad, fully charged, under the edge of the bed. She got so tired of finding her iPad completely flat that she’d taken a charger and hidden it. Now she always knew where to find it when she wanted it. He had his own anyway, so why he even needed hers was beyond her.
She sank down on the floor and swiped it on. First she wondered how much it would be to fly to Italy. She had her own account balance. She could do this. She didn’t need permission. She was an adult. The webjet page came up and she spent several minutes trying different days and months and flights to see what she could find. The further away the date, the cheaper the flight. It would be part of the excitement to anticipate the departure date, so she decided six months away would be fine. She left that window and opened another. She wondered what Antonio looked like now. She imagined his hair greying at the temples. He wondered if might have acquired a bit of a belly too, but she knew he’d still stand tall and proud. No doubt he was still living in the same town and working for his father. Both sons followed their father into the legal profession. What was the brother’s name? He was a few years older and she hadn’t got to know him so well. Massimo, that was it. She smiled to herself. She could feel adrenalin surging through her body, so much of it that her fingers shook. She typed Antonio’s name into Google and hit enter. Maybe he was widowed, or divorced, and when they met again it would be just like old times, the same old flame, that crazy desire that plagues teenagers. She could feel herself get excited in anticipation. Ohmigod! She saw his name. Dozens of entries. She clicked on them one by one. No photos, but the address of the law firm and confirmation that he still worked at the family business. Even a map! She could just appear at the door. Would he recognise her? She clicked on the White pages, Yellow pages, and every search engine out there. She tried Facebook with no luck. No doubt he wanted his privacy. Lawyers, clients, couldn’t have his face and family all out there, could he? Marina remembered how sexy her name sounded when it rolled off his tongue. Perhaps it was his warm brown eyes looking at her as he spoke that amplified the warmth of the memory. She sighed and closed her eyes. Gorgeous Antonio. Where are you, my love?
She scrolled down. LinkedIn! She called up her account and typed in his name. Ohmigod! He had an account, although it looked rather incomplete. There was no photo but there was an email address. Could she just email him after all this time? Dare she? She read over the bare bones of his history. It had to be him. University of Bari. She shifted on the floor, wiggling like an excited child. She drummed her fingers and coaxed herself to breath. She went back to the results page and scanned down the list. Twitter! He had a twitter account? She clicked on it. A photo! A picture! She held the iPad away from her face to better focus. Could that be him? On the water on some kind of boat. That would be like him. He’s holding his hand up. He sure had long fingers. But look at his face. He was bald! There was that fading ring around his head of thin brown hair. No curls. How could virile, beautiful Antonio be balding? He does have a tummy too. Look at that. Even through the oversized collared shirt he wore there was the distinct outline of a stomach.
Marina felt her own stomach clench. Or maybe it was her heart aching. Exhaustion suddenly descended on her. She clicked off the iPad and let it slide onto the floor as if it was too heavy to bother with. She felt a bit stunned, let down. How could the universe have let him go like that? Such beauty, such a force of energy. She knew she wasn't exactly Venus reborn, but still. Hair dye, Pilates and a dog that needed far more walks than she ever thought possible helped her to keep her shape. After two babies there wasn't a lot of perk left in her breasts, but she still considered herself energetic and competent.
She hauled herself up and left the room, closing the door gently behind her. She floated down the stairs in a daze and wandered into the lounge where Malcolm was eating a bowl of corn chips and salsa, and chasing them with a cold James Boag. She plopped down beside him on the couch.
He smiled over at her. “Want a beer or glass of wine? Have a corn chip.” He handed the bowl over to her. She looked at him, then studied his hair. He had nice hair. Thinner, and almost all grey, but still wavy and still there. He glanced away from her when the broadcaster’s tone of voice went up an octave in excitement.
“A glass of wine would be great,” she said. He stood up immediately and danced his way to the kitchen. “Anything for you, love.” Marina watched him go, then turned her attention to the cricket match.
Friday, 25 April 2014
The Rebellious Truth
The word rebel has come up for me several times this week: at work by a parent struggling with a teenager, by a friend of the family struggling with a teenager, in the many parenting books I am currently reading, and by a reference to my teenage self as a rebel. That didn't sit well with me, as I never thought of myself as a rebel. More like aimless.
I have a friend who once shared a story with me. She was driving along, her three kids in the back all singing or gabbing away, when a policeman pulled her over for one thing or another. She lowered her window and this cop began to berate her. He used harsh words, a belligerent tone and was extremely rude. Afraid, one of the children began to cry. Despite the cop yelling at her to stay in her car, she said to him, 'what, do you think this is America?', and proceeded to climb out. She proceeded to explain to him that she had always taught her children to respect the law and police officers, that when they needed help they were to call for the police. His atrocious behaviour had undone all that by terrifying her young children, and what did he think he was accomplishing? Suitably chastened, the officer turned around and returned to his car.
When I first heard that story I was astonished and in awe. Get out of your car to face down a police officer? That takes guts!
The first famous people that came to my unilluminated mind were James Dean and Marilyn Monroe, but that seemed woefully inadequate, after all, James died speeding along at 24 in a terrible car crash and Marilyn at 36, addicted to alcohol and sleeping pills. Hardly an appealing goal for anyone.
Time Magazine this year in March published a list of history's most rebellious women in celebration of International Women's Day. This list, which includes photos, is made up of some absolutely amazing women. Some of them are Tawakul Karman, Aung San Suu Kyi, Harriet Tubman, Mary Wollstonecraft, Joan of Arc, etc. I urge you to take a look at this list and share it around and make sure every female, especially young ones, know who they are. Well, most of them anyway, as some listed here were so violent that I wondered why they were to be admired. Just because they were female?
Interestingly, I didn't find an equivalent list of rebellious men. Are there just too many? Is it too normal a behaviour for them? Or aren't there very many? When I googled 'rebellious men' I got pages of bible quotes, a few fashion stores, one of which had clothing styled after military gear. Is that rebelling? Looking like you're in the military, but you're not really? Is the intention to support our military?
Next I googled 'modern day rebels' and first up was a link to a hilarious series of pictures, a bit tongue in cheek, of 21 Modern Day Rebels Who Do What They Want at pophangover.com. My favourite has to be the smiling pooch unwittingly sitting behind a sign that states "No Dogs Beyond This Point," but the postage stamp was pretty clever too. I hope that poor dog clinging desperately to the signpost made it down safely.
The next links really weren't what I was looking for either. I decided to look up the definitions of rebel.
According to oxforddictionary.com, a rebel is a person who rises in opposition or armed resistance against an established government or leader; a person who resists authority, control, or convention. Not quite satisfied with this definition, which could describe any two-year-old testing boundaries, I found at vocabulary.com this definition: someone who exhibits great independence in thought and action; a person who takes part in armed rebellion against the constituted authority (especially in the hope of improving conditions). That last phrase is key for me - the hope of improving conditions - the reason for the behaviour, which can hardly be applied to teenagers getting pregnant or addicted to drugs or cutting school.
At psychologytoday.com I found a great article by Carl E. Pickhardt entitled Rebel with a Cause: Rebellion in Adolescence. He states that "although the young person thinks rebellion is an act of independence, it actually never is. It is really an act of dependency. Rebellion causes the young person to depend self-definition and personal conduct on doing the opposite of what other people want." It's a bit to chew over, but worth the effort. He also writes: "Rebellion can cause young people to rebel against their own self-interests - rejecting childhood interests, activities, and relationships that often support self-esteem." He offers an informative breakdown of the stages of rebellion from children aged nine all the way through to their early twenties, when the mind-set shifts from, 'You can't make me,' to 'I can't make me,' when the person is unable to get themselves out of bed for a job, complete assignments for class, or act in their own best interests. According to Pickhardt the last challenge of adolescence is to figure out how to end the rebellion against self interest and accept their leadership authority.
I think the best definition comes from urbandictionary.com: "a rebel is a person who stands up for their own personal opinions despite what anyone else says. A true rebel stands up for what they believe is right, not against what's right. It's not about smoking crack, drinking till you're rendered unconscious, or beating the crap out of anyone that crosses your path. It's all about being an individual and refusing the follow a crowd that forces you to think the same way they do even if it means being an outcast to society. True rebels know who they are and do not compromise their individuality or personal opinion for anyone. They're straightforward and honest and they will sure as hell tell you like it is."
It's convictions, it's guts, it's standing for a greater good, (eliminates many politicians, doesn't it?) and it's faith in who they are. That to me is a rebel. I only wish I was one! I'd love to hear your examples of who you think is worthy of being called a rebel.
I have a friend who once shared a story with me. She was driving along, her three kids in the back all singing or gabbing away, when a policeman pulled her over for one thing or another. She lowered her window and this cop began to berate her. He used harsh words, a belligerent tone and was extremely rude. Afraid, one of the children began to cry. Despite the cop yelling at her to stay in her car, she said to him, 'what, do you think this is America?', and proceeded to climb out. She proceeded to explain to him that she had always taught her children to respect the law and police officers, that when they needed help they were to call for the police. His atrocious behaviour had undone all that by terrifying her young children, and what did he think he was accomplishing? Suitably chastened, the officer turned around and returned to his car.
When I first heard that story I was astonished and in awe. Get out of your car to face down a police officer? That takes guts!
The first famous people that came to my unilluminated mind were James Dean and Marilyn Monroe, but that seemed woefully inadequate, after all, James died speeding along at 24 in a terrible car crash and Marilyn at 36, addicted to alcohol and sleeping pills. Hardly an appealing goal for anyone.
Time Magazine this year in March published a list of history's most rebellious women in celebration of International Women's Day. This list, which includes photos, is made up of some absolutely amazing women. Some of them are Tawakul Karman, Aung San Suu Kyi, Harriet Tubman, Mary Wollstonecraft, Joan of Arc, etc. I urge you to take a look at this list and share it around and make sure every female, especially young ones, know who they are. Well, most of them anyway, as some listed here were so violent that I wondered why they were to be admired. Just because they were female?
Interestingly, I didn't find an equivalent list of rebellious men. Are there just too many? Is it too normal a behaviour for them? Or aren't there very many? When I googled 'rebellious men' I got pages of bible quotes, a few fashion stores, one of which had clothing styled after military gear. Is that rebelling? Looking like you're in the military, but you're not really? Is the intention to support our military?
Next I googled 'modern day rebels' and first up was a link to a hilarious series of pictures, a bit tongue in cheek, of 21 Modern Day Rebels Who Do What They Want at pophangover.com. My favourite has to be the smiling pooch unwittingly sitting behind a sign that states "No Dogs Beyond This Point," but the postage stamp was pretty clever too. I hope that poor dog clinging desperately to the signpost made it down safely.
The next links really weren't what I was looking for either. I decided to look up the definitions of rebel.
According to oxforddictionary.com, a rebel is a person who rises in opposition or armed resistance against an established government or leader; a person who resists authority, control, or convention. Not quite satisfied with this definition, which could describe any two-year-old testing boundaries, I found at vocabulary.com this definition: someone who exhibits great independence in thought and action; a person who takes part in armed rebellion against the constituted authority (especially in the hope of improving conditions). That last phrase is key for me - the hope of improving conditions - the reason for the behaviour, which can hardly be applied to teenagers getting pregnant or addicted to drugs or cutting school.
At psychologytoday.com I found a great article by Carl E. Pickhardt entitled Rebel with a Cause: Rebellion in Adolescence. He states that "although the young person thinks rebellion is an act of independence, it actually never is. It is really an act of dependency. Rebellion causes the young person to depend self-definition and personal conduct on doing the opposite of what other people want." It's a bit to chew over, but worth the effort. He also writes: "Rebellion can cause young people to rebel against their own self-interests - rejecting childhood interests, activities, and relationships that often support self-esteem." He offers an informative breakdown of the stages of rebellion from children aged nine all the way through to their early twenties, when the mind-set shifts from, 'You can't make me,' to 'I can't make me,' when the person is unable to get themselves out of bed for a job, complete assignments for class, or act in their own best interests. According to Pickhardt the last challenge of adolescence is to figure out how to end the rebellion against self interest and accept their leadership authority.
I think the best definition comes from urbandictionary.com: "a rebel is a person who stands up for their own personal opinions despite what anyone else says. A true rebel stands up for what they believe is right, not against what's right. It's not about smoking crack, drinking till you're rendered unconscious, or beating the crap out of anyone that crosses your path. It's all about being an individual and refusing the follow a crowd that forces you to think the same way they do even if it means being an outcast to society. True rebels know who they are and do not compromise their individuality or personal opinion for anyone. They're straightforward and honest and they will sure as hell tell you like it is."
It's convictions, it's guts, it's standing for a greater good, (eliminates many politicians, doesn't it?) and it's faith in who they are. That to me is a rebel. I only wish I was one! I'd love to hear your examples of who you think is worthy of being called a rebel.
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