The art of ASKING.

I haven't posted in a while*
*Probably the most commonly used introduction on this blog.

Sigh.
I have been not so much busy in the calendar but busy in the brain and has meant I haven't landed on a solid topic.

For the past month, I have been running Donation Yoga classes at a small yoga space in North Melbourne. My last post "I am Grounded" was some musings after the first one.

The classes since have gone well; whilst the numbers have been small, a few friends or friends of friends; I like it, as it's intimate and a great space for people to ask questions, and still a great chance for me find my voice in class.

Here's a shot of me teaching at a friend's farm for her birthday festival weekend. 

Still, the past couple of weeks have been a struggle. Like any project driven from the ground up, I have to not only organise the class, the venue, the playlist; but then get people to come. Just like my shows as a cabaret comedian, my shows and gigs, my friend's gigs, boyfriend's gigs and all, I have to ask people to come. 

Promote, hashtag, txt, message. 

"Can you.....?" "Are you...." "Hey!"

When you ask someone anything- be it "will you come to my class?" 

"will you help me with my job application?" 

"do you love me?" 

- you have to be vulnerable... you have to push through the shadow of shame and take that leap of faith, that time when your breath pauses and you wait for the response. I have banged on about how in our time of FOMO, not RESPECTING the RSVP, that the response is often nonchalant, or not followed through with.

There has been times where I have stopped being invited to things because I was never able to make it.

There has been times where I have stopped inviting people to things because they always flake out. 

I look back on this and hate that I have lost faith in people close to me; that I thought they have run out of chances, that they are not worth it.

I can't help but get invested when someone takes interest. Sometimes my responses to their excuses why they didn't come have a slight bitter sting. 

That's because it hurts.

People wonder why you aren't doing those shows or playing music or making things anymore. They didn't come. 

Sometimes myself and other artist friends don't want to host parties because we are sick of the asking and the letdown that follows.

To continue to ask, without fear, takes courage. It is, as Amanda Palmer puts it- "The Art of Asking"

It's rather timely that my mantra for this week's class, the class where I am questioning whether it is worth it running the classes, whether it is worth it to txt those 8 friends to follow up if they are coming or not is "I am enough."

There's nothing like only two people confirmed they are coming to your event to make those feelings of low self worth come in.

The thing is, I know that I am worthy. I know I am a vibrant, engaging teacher and performer. I have told myself "build it, and they will come." I know that I have a tenacity that will never put my fire out no matter how much it rains. I know that even though I doubt my abilities as a writer this blog has given moments of light to some, but also made others question my intensions. 

I'm writing this maybe to give you a bit of what myself and some people go through. I'm writing this for myself to be a meaningful reminder to go back on next time I get sick of asking. 

I would ask you to comment on if you feel the same, if you have anything to add, as I would love to hear from you. I believe that you are worth asking, and worth hearing from.

Till then, I shall remind myself "ask, and one day, you shall receive."

Getting Grounded

"I am grounded"

Was the mantra for the yoga class I taught this week. I, at last have a permanent class of my choosing where I can play and practice teaching, and I have decided to base my classes around a mantra.  
The studio is small- Tofu For Dolphins in North Melbourne.

We describe people as "grounded" "humble" "down to earth" "with their ear to the ground." These are all positive descriptions, if anyone described me as this, I'd be properly chuffed (I mostly get "confident" "energetic" "the good kind of crazy")
But a grounded person is someone we can trust. They have balanced opinions, wear clothes that they are comfortable in and remember their roots- see the path I am leading you down here?

On Sunday I had a rough day at work. Something really pooey happened. When I came home, I realised I had spent too much time in doors in front of screens as well so to decompress I went to the park and walked barefoot through the long grass for a while. With the sun on my back and tickle of grass in my feet, it was a great opportunity to connect to the ground and ruminate....I almost forgot that I was in a huge city until I saw a man with one of those old metal detectors and a hoe wearing camouflage and service station sunnies.  I laid in the long grass which almost engulfed me and stared up at the sky. I laid there long enough to leave a me-sized imprint in the grass, and feeling much calmer, returned home.

In Yoga and Ayurveda (Indian Holistic medicine) our root- our foundation, is extremely important. The junction of energy channels located in our Muladhara chakra (root chakra) is the foundation of our energy body, responsible for the sense of smell and our excretion. That's right; if there's a blockage in your root chakra, it must mean you are full of s**t. (Sorry if you are a hardcore yogi and you think I am taking the micky out of an ancient eastern science; I'm just trying to bring it to the people!)

But seriously, when our roots, like our living situation, our family, our community, are unstable, it has ways of manifesting physically and emotionally- we get stressed, tired, sick, have headaches and poor circulation. Trees and plants grow down as well as up, and in order for us to grow and blossom, our roots too, need good soil, water, and space.

For me, getting grounded is about reconnecting with this sort of foundation. Reconnecting with nature, with people who like and know me for me. 

One little sentiment cropped up as I was researching for my class-
"By connecting to the earth we can connect with something much bigger than ourselves. We are not just tiny egos floating in space, we are all glued to this planet that has been housing us and nurturing us for thousands of years."

It's like that feeling of the enormity of the universe when you look up at a starry sky, or a giant tree. 

I spent some time walking barefoot before my class on Thursday. I may have not been as present as I should have been.... I got a bee sting between my toes. 

It's now a great reason to be barefoot. Nothing like an itchy swelling sting to remind you the wonders of nature.

It takes time, I've scratched the surface. I recommend digging much deeper.

Wearing a frown? Get your feet on the ground.

JJ

Getting intense in tents.

This time last week I was knee deep in The Village Festival's frivolity and fantastic-ness....
The Village Festival is a travelling arts and cultural festival that is kid and dog friendly and sets up camp in Edinburgh Gardens every year (also goes to Falls Festival and other regional events.)

I did a 45 minute show (Banana Jolie- Gone Bananas) and was MC and Stage Manager for Friday night, then on Saturday I hosted So You Think You Can Interpretive Dance and was MC and stage manager for another 4 hrs. That lead to lots of stage time to fill, play, and riff on all sorts of things.

My final spot (10pm, Saturday) of killing time was haphazardly executed by taking the metaphorical knife that is improvised witticisms, banter and physical comedy, and slashing it- our cherished "I don't have time" "I need more time" "who even grows thyme" into tiny comical pieces for 20 minutes - and lead to me speaking about how things can get relatively intense in tents.

For all intents and purposes; my intention is to release any tension if tents, being intense. or in tents is not your thing. I would rather you forgive me, or forgave me (because it's past tense.)
Tents provide little fabric homes, venues and shelters to many people, all easily compacted down and squished into a bag that it never fits in again after it's brand new unless you are good at yelling, arguing or folding.
If anyone has ever slept in a tent when it's cold/ you have no mattress/ no mate/ thought that the bush stays as warm as the city; you will know the type of cold you feel; it's pretty intense, that cold in tents.
It's the type of cold that makes you start making lists of all the things you wished you did before you died. The type of cold that makes you curl up in a ball at the bottom of your sleeping bag and jog on your side. It's cold, it's intense in tents. 
And you said to yourself "I mean, I didn't intentionally not pack enough warm blankets or clothes, I wish I packed more" (or wished, because it's past tense.)
And then, as dawn comes and starts to waft a bit of warmth into the air, you hear the birds chirp and you sigh thinking the nature is all worth it as you fall asleep.

5 hours later you gasp for air, it's sweltering and all the water is too warm, too far away for you anyway. You are trapped in your sleeping bag, which is sticking to you like a second skin and your matted hair blurs your vision. You don't know what is worse, the heat, the thirst, or the need to pee. You are in a nylon nightmate.
It's hot, it's intense, in your tent. You go for the zip to try let some air in and reach your head out gasping for air like an unqualified Baywatch lifeguard rescuing an awkwardly attractive dad.
Feeling tense, your tent heats up intensely, you neighbours, with good intentions going about their morning card game try to help you but you have to run to the composting toilet, still sweating and wearing a hilarious combination of clothing you donned to keep yourself warm. You are running to the composting toilet, sweating, dying, you run, you run; or you ran (because it's past tents.)

Is your jaw tense? Is that story intense? Are you reading this intently in tents?
**Side note, to me I am writing this in my kiwi accent that is in my head. So I recommend reading over it again with a kiwi accent in your head. Or any accent that you find the pronunciation of the word "tent" interesting. 

That is one simple story of a candid canvas adventure. Summer is supposedly around the corner, and you might find yourself in a tent at some point. I my intention was to vent about being tense, intense, in tents. I hope you are feeling a bit more prepared for when you are in tents- maybe not the "Kathaman-do you like my fancy tent?" style camping trip, it might be at a festival, a convention, a wedding, and those events in tents can get intense.  What is the difference between a tent and a marquee? I'm not sure, maybe like $3000 and a whole lot less pun making. Or maked- because it's past tense.

Jj

Don't let work define your day

This is something my dear sweet hunk of a spunk boyf said to me before he and I started going out. It has stuck with me since.

"Don't let work define your day" 

Can be interpreted in as range of ways, and I feel is quite important because something I have often waffled on about is how sometimes what we do becomes the main defining thing of who we are. At the moment, what I am mostly doing for work is working in a forensic mental health hospital teaching yoga and fitness- yet I will always say I am a performer before saying anything else.... and yes, the nature of that or many artistic vocations does mean our occupations and identities intertwine, but it's not all.
I'm a performer, I'm also a daughter, a sister, an aunty, a bike enthusiast, a hopeless house plant owner, a lover of journals, avocado and Leonardo Di Caprio. So by choosing these things to define my day rather than what I do for 8 hours of it that I'm being paid for. 

Because my routine is actually becoming a routine (wake up, gym, breakfast, work, teach, come home) I'm trying to add other little things into the pockets of my day so that it feels like I am doing much more than what I HAVE to do, I'm also doing things I CHOOSE to do. 

Like today, I made a different cooked breakfast, watched some comedy and sat in the park (I woke up 3 hrs before needing to go to work)
Some days I meet someone for coffee, even a 45 minute one
Some days I sleep in
Some days I play the guitar
Some days I drink gin*

* not true
**  well, actually true, sometimes, but not before work....after. 

It has been as simple as taking a different route to work, listening to a different podcast, speaking to someone on the phone en route, or leaving 30 mins early to sit in the park to read....or write this. If you have a nice scented candle, don't save it for guests, light that thing up and smell the different spin on the morning- you don't even have to wake up any earlier.

Sure, some people are not morning people at all. The would rather eat their pillow than get out of bed in the morning, and the idea of thinking about whether to have breakfast or not, let alone thinking of something different to do to spice up the workday is all too much. That's ok.
Maybe if this is you, as you are loving your late night scroll sesh, or whatever, you could cue up a podcast or pop a book or even a scrap of the newspaper in your bag...
Or, even spend a minute more to think about what you are wearing and add a splash of colour or that hat you have wanted to wear but are unsure if it's cool or not. (FYI, if "That hat" is a fedora, it is NOT cool, unless you are a drummer in a latino band or Matt Lee judging So You Think You Can Dance Australia in 2010. 


But why?

Because, as they say, change is as good as a holiday. Why not make your world this colourful wonderful place that you enjoy or that people want to be a part of. Also because I hear my friends who work the usual 9-5 Monday-Friday get sick of eworkplace chat being only about what you did in the weekend, what you had for dinner and what you watched on TV.

Change it up with some crochet
Mix it up with some Monet
Be different with some birdwatching 

Whatever- you're clever.

Jj

Sentiments on Sunrises

Monday morning (when I am writing this intro bit) has reared it's head upon me after I enjoyed some late night Sunday reggae and revelry, leaving me somewhat disorganised for the week and also hunting down an almond croissant.

I awoke to the 8am heat stifling through the bedroom, and went about my business.

I don't really get the Monday-itis as weekends are usually as work filled as every other day for me, and I also mostly enjoy what I do for work so this picture kind of does and doesn't apply but I hope it gives you a chuckle.

Below are my sentiments I wrote last week when I was riding to an early morning meditation class and got to experience what I feel is one of the best parts of the day. 

Sunrise gives a special sense of optimism.

The potential for a new day is smeared across the sky in mandarin hues.

A time of the day reserved for tradies, joggers and shift workers, the morning haze lifts on the night before like blurry eyelids lift their gaze to others on the first tram.

The hustle and bustle is slow to wake, snoozing till the last minute then suddenly having to go at record speed to get to work in time.

I have been a fan of sunrises since I was young. I remember getting up super early to head to the mountain to go skiing. Sitting in our sleeping bags and thermals in the car, making our ascent up Mt Ruapehu and seeing the weak winter sunrise yawn over the snowy but sludgy peaks. 

In Cambodia last year my room had 3 walls, and one open side onto the Kampot river. I could glimpse the subtle indigo to peach kaleidoscopic changes through one eyelid and roll over to snooze till the heat crept up on my back and kayakers started becoming a more regular presence. Sigh.

Earlier this year on our road trip from Byron Bay to Adelaide, we saw sunrise atop Mount Warning, just outside Mullumbimby. The ascent in the dark was challenging, and the incoming light was the main motivation to plod with pace to the summit. The clouds distinctly swept away like a magician pulling a table cloth out from under a table and leaving everything un-disturbed, except in this case revealing a stunning view. A few days later, on boyfriend's birthday his first present I gave him was waking him up to sleepily poke our heads out of the skylight of the van to see the vast dry outback sunrise. With no other company but the bugs and birds, he went back to sleep and I enjoyed the coolest (in all senses of the word) part of the day. 

In India for my Yoga Teacher Training, I probably experienced my most consecutive sunrises in my life. We had to be up at 5.15am to have tea before morning Yoga Asana practice. That time in the morning, can be a bit shocking for some and rarely experienced unless going to the airport, waking an extra 30 mins earlier was completely worth it when I could go to the rooftop and watch the morning rouse itself over the base of the Himalayas we were below. The subtlety between each day, the sounds of the birds and view of other rooftop dwellers, some local families or other early morning yogis, are a few of the things I will never forget.

There have been times when I have stayed up all night till sunrise, read my post- "A Vampire's Diary"  to hear how seeing sunrise after seeing daytime, nighttime, daytime, has this strange energy to it that masks your sleep deprivation and makes it all worth it. 

As my Monday rolls on to the rest of the week, I'm going to consciously cherish the mornings, the smiling sunrise and sunbeams shining out of my smile from seeing it.

In the words of Roald Dahl : 

"If you have good thoughts they will shine out of your face like sunbeams and you will always look lovely." 

I hope I have painted some pretty pictures for you. All it takes is setting your alarm for 5.30am (or probably 10am if you are in the North Pole) and you can experience them for yourself. Trust me, it is magical.

Jj

Ebbs and flows

Ahh the feeling of coming back to this blog after a long hiatus is probably what someone who has been cancelling on their personal trainer feels like- It hurts, because of the guilt of being away and the perceived pain of starting all over again. 

Often in this blog I like to share cool new lessons or things I have been doing. 
Lately, I have struggled to write a good solid post as the things I have been doing have seemed pretty trivial, such as:
- I snapped my bike handle in half.
- There have been many attempts to put up a spice rack in my house but as my house is really old the walls crumble, finally found a solution by hanging the spice rack and suspended spices is the newest home wares trend, I'm sure. 
- I stopped writing for a while as Melbourne Fringe Festival was on and I was writing a ton of reviews and I went to NZ and I have been tittering away at some new bits of script for "Banana Jolie- Gone Bananas" variety show. 

Underneath all that biz is the constant hum of the ongoing quest for a work-creative-spiritual-social-making the most of time- getting enough sleep-life- balance. 

Diving into everything with full gusto has terrific rewards, yet can leave one a bit miffed when others don't prioritise things in the same way. What I have to step back and force myself to see is that we can't be "on" in a constant state of flow (when you are managing to balance everything and get a million things done all whilst having perfectly shaped eyebrows) all the time.....you need to have some ebbs (being seen at the supermarket buying a packet of scotch fingers by that cutey from the gym as you empty the contents of your bag on the counter (yoga pants, receipts, your journal, a half eaten carrot) to find your wallet.)

AND although this feeling can initially cause lament, if you look at the ocean or the stream, if it constantly pushed in the one direction- eg flow without ebb, then it is nowhere as beautiful or INTERESTING to watch as a stream or ocean that is dynamic and dashing. 
The reason Phil Collins' hit song "In the Air Tonight" is such a gnarly banger is because it starts off quiet (ebb) and then the epic drum solo comes in (flow.)

or vise versa.

That makes me think about how my own yoga practice constantly reminds me this- there was a time when I didn't feel like I had had a proper yoga sesh if I wasn't doing tons of chaturangas, balances and planks in a hot room. I was pretty misguided and was putting too much pressure on myself and the class - my approach was all wrong (I used to even get angry in class- umm, completely the opposite of what you would expect but that's actually quite common)
Thankfully I have come to learn that that is not yoga- it's a westernised "lean, mean, expensive machine" version of it. Sometimes, the hardest thing in yoga asana practice is not moving from downward dog to warrior- a genuine flow, it is the slow beginning, the child's pose that goes longer than you want it to or savasana (corpse pose lying down at the end.) 
Similarly, when you are all go at work and have plenty of things on the list it is easier than having to slow down and get back to the drawing board, and actually be bored. 

Since it is a while since I have posted, I feel I have lost my writing rhythm a bit, and am self-consciously writing this section to say that I hope you are picking up what I'm putting down- catching my drift about the beauty in ebb and flow and just going with it.

To finish, I shall leave you with what Martial artist and founder of Japanese martial art Akido; Morihei Ueshiba says:

Consider the ebb and flow of the tide. When waves come to strike the shore, they crest and fall, creating a sound. Your breath should follow the same pattern, absorbing the entire universe in your belly with each inhalation. Know that we all have access to four treasures: the energy of the sun and moon, the breath of heaven, the breath of earth, and the ebb and flow of the tide.

The ebb and flow of the tide and life is a treasure my friend. Look after it.

Jj

They are right! Rest IS best.

Hahahahaha

That's my response to myself taking 27 years to learn that full, proper rest when you are sick, actually makes you better faster.

Hahahahaa IT ACTUALLY DOES!

Wow. Some of you might be rolling your eyes, scratching your heads, thinking "JJ.... aren't you, like a fitness professional and yoga teacher? Didn't you know that? Isn't 'listening to your body' supposed to be your jam? Why is this a blog-worthy topic? Don't you owe me $5?"

And I whip my freshly trimmed fringe to the side, cough a deep chesty cough that makes strangers say "you should get that looked at" and sheepishly respond to you: "Ah, yes, listening to my body is supposed to be my jam but sometimes my body speaks in tongues I cannot understand, or misinterpret."

You know.... my body might say "give me carrots" and I hear "give me cheese"
It might say "I feel tired, let's not ride 10km to work then do a workout" and I hear "I feel tired, let's do a workout before riding 10km to work and then do a workout."
It might say "I have had a big week, I want the couch" and I hear "I've had a big week, I want an espresso martini."

Well, this week, admittedly probably from too much of the pushing and not so much listening, I was smote down with influenza. I thought it was a chest infection, and normally push through (see the theme here) a few days for it to rear its' head before calling the Doc, but as I had to work 8 days that week then go home to NZ, I didn't want to take any chances. The next day, I was hardly able to breathe, move, smile, or eat, I was that crook. A few blood tests, nasal swab and asthma tests meant the Doc said I was not to work or exercise for the rest of the week. 

I did it. What the Dr told me to. No work. No exercise, not even riding my bike. I barely left the house, instead, made a little snot den for myself where everything was within arms reach and napped for hours on end throughout the day. I was surrounded with a Narnia-snow like dusting of tissues, boxes of tablets, half empty cups of lemsip.
I rotated my dribbly pillows and coughed expressively, on the worst day some of my phlegm got on the carpet. 

Better out than in. 

During my yoga teacher training in India, some of us would fall asleep during meditation. We asked our gurus if this was bad, and how to stop it, and they simply replied that if we are falling asleep, it means we need more rest. 
***the cogs turn***the penny drops***
There, one of the greatest lessons I did open myself up to learning is to actually- as cliche as the expression has become- listen to my body, with a patient translator, rather than just misinterpreting it straight away. In the months since then, the noise of the working western world has been interfering with my body's messages a bit, not always. Being sick and actually resting (I have almost recovered and that is with 3 days full rest, normally I would be sick for a week and a half, pushing through at full speed, downing cold and flu tablets and honey ginger cayenne pepper tea.) 
This period of rest has given me a chance to reset that barometer and work my way up again. Till then, back to the snot den!

In a more lighthearted note, here is a list of famous hypochondriacs I found:

Famous Hypochondriacs

Adolf Hitler

Florence Nightingale

Andy Warhol

Charles Darwin

Hans Christian Anderson

Marcel Proust

Tennessee Williams

Howard Hughes

Hahahahahahaha (That is my laughter also being the best medicine)

Jj

Decision Fatigue

Hello dear readers. I have delayed posting the last week as I have been struggling to decide what to write about. 

In homage to young kiwi fictional hero, Ricky Baker, here is a haiku:

Decisions, decide

Can sometimes make us tired

So we choose dumb things.

Wikipedia says :

"In decision making and psychology, decision fatigue refers to the deteriorating quality of decisions made by an individual after a long session of decision making. It is now understood as one of the causes of irrational trade-offs in decision making. For instance, judges in court have been shown to make less favorable decisions later in the day than early in the day.  Decision fatigue may also lead to consumers making poor choices with their purchases."

(This is why they put the chocolates and sweets right beside the checkout- we are tired of making choices in the supermarket so get a 'treat'.)

Notably, major politicians and businessmen such as Former US President Barack Obama, Steve Jobs, and Mark Zuckerberg have been known to reduce their everyday clothing down to one or two outfits in order to limit the number of decisions they make in a day.

- I've been there.... Sometimes a classic black activewear ensemble is the easiest/most practical/can get away with without washing for 4 days choice.

Decision fatigue is why you sometimes get worried what to order on a menu when there are a whole bunch of choices, especially with ingredients you don't understand the names of. It also leads to reduced ability to make trade offs,

Decision avoidance (" Should I go to Kate's dog's birthday or Harry's party for his newly ripened avocado? I won't go to either") 

Impulse purchases ("I couldn't find any tops I liked to wear to work so I bought this BBQ instead") 

Impaired self regulation ("my brain is so tired from all these decisions at work, I can't decide what to have for dinner so I will eat this cake and put hummus on it because at least that is kind of healthy.")

Ahhh!

How do we make sure decision fatigue doesn't wear us down to making dumb choices? Or choices which do not serve us?

Well, it depends on the person.

Some people have no issue finding what to wear in the morning, but others spend the whole night before plotting, only to find in the morning magical gremlins have come inside their clothes and stitched little bits in them to make them sit incorrectly, and as a result sit around in their bathrobe lamenting not having anything to wear, begrudgingly choose an outfit they know always looks good but wore it 3 times last week.

Some people love variety for what they have for lunch everyday and can conjure up a great idea with a whimsical whip of the sandwich press.

Others um and ahh, baffled by deciding between spinach or salad mix, mayo or aoli, tuna or salmon, multigrain or rye, so have a tomato sauce and butter sandwich because they knew it was their favourite when they were a kid and they had it everyday for their 8th year of their life. 

You get the picture.

For me, I have been extra prepared these past three weeks with a Sunday night epic meal prep sesh- taking the decision time out of the week day meals and fortunately I basically wear a uniform to work anyways.

I read in a really reliable source (I think it was cosmo) that having a 'personal uniform' means you take ditch decision fatigue by having a certain set of sweet suits- a framework that you can freestyle in. 

I read in another trusty source (I was probably men's health) that eating the same thing for breakfast everyday (provided it is healthy and not bacon wrapped waffles) is more likely to lead to maintaining stable weight. Boom.

And so I have solved my decision about deciding what to write by writing about deciding.

How's that for a nicely tied up ending!

..... quite average actually, so I shall finish with another haiku.

Thanks for reading this

decisions don't rule your day

cool stuff can, yeah man.

Jj

Words and wallowing.

“Sometimes the simplest and best use of our will is to drop it all and just walk out from under everything that is covering us, even if only for an hour or so—just walk out from under the webs we've spun, the tasks we've assumed, the problems we have to solve. They'll be there when we get back, and maybe, maybe some of them will fall apart without our worry to hold them up.” 

― Mark Nepo, The Book of Awakening: Having the Life You Want by Being Present to the Life You Have

This wonderful passage was read to me during savasana at Gertrude Yoga Studio last week. It, combined with the gentle practice, PMS and the fact that the night before as I lay in a crumpled heap I realised my mojo wasn't ENTIRELY back bought tears to my eyes.  I was going to write about that midweek meltdown but it's a little raw. 
Here I was, proclaiming to the internet that this very hungry caterpillar has formed into a butterfly, when in fact, only one wing had escaped, the rest was in the cocoon and there were still a bunch of chocolate coated teddy biscuits the very hungry caterpillar had to eat. 

In India during my yoga teacher training, I cried in savasana several times. It is a really releasing and vulnerable posture where you have to surrender, fully show up and be confronted with your tension - and that is hard. As the tears rolled down my cheeks on Thursday morning, I was really reluctant to just let myself wallow. I am one who holds energy and productivity as a badge of honour, till the day I drop, and although "self care" is on my radar (I think it is very important, especially as a freelancer) my version of it involves saunas and catch ups with friends, so I still made myself feel guilty about wanting to curl up in a ball on what was, as I later found out, Melbourne's coldest day in years!

I returned home and dissolved again to tears and tissues. After talking it out with my ever understanding boyfriend (who earlier I tried blaming but realised that was just fear talking) he advised me to just enjoy the afternoon and do something nice for myself. 

Still feeling guilty but also with a lot of determination "I MUST relax!" , I got into bed in the middle of the afternoon and watched a movie whilst drinking chilli hot chocolate. 

10 minutes in, I stopped. No one had called me yelling down the phone "BUSTED! You're a failure! Wallowing!! HA. Everything you have done until now where you have been really productive and energetic is a lie!"

Nope, that didn't happen. I kept watching the film.

30 minutes in, my flat mate returned home..... he didn't knock on my door yelling "Joana, the house is strangely quiet. You better be writing something hilarious or building an online store or something creative otherwise I can't live with someone who is such a lazy slob."

Hm, that didn't happen either.

90minutes in, my alarm went off and I went to boxing.

The people there didn't tell me my jabs were soft because I was wallowing for a while. They didn't criticise my left hook-roll-pivot-right hand- roll- righthand or my footwork because I spent my afternoon off not up-skilling. 

They didn't even tell me I had chill hot chocolate on the side of my mouth.

"Sometimes the fear of the storm is greater than the storm itself"

I heard that on my podcast this morning that Mark Nepo (the writer above) was talking about fear.... in my case, my fear of letting go, walking out on the afternoon and not giving a hoot if I got anything more done that day was holding me back from doing what I needed. The fear that things might crumble without my worry to hold them up. 

The fear of what other people would think if they found out.

And here I am, fully leaning into that fear by telling you all.

My mum always told me "feel the fear and do it anyway."

So since then I have wallowed well.....

Jj

Mastering my Mojo

If you read my previous blog, the heroine in the story was smited with the winter sickness. If you are gasping and searching for that post; you can read it here.

Blow away the smoke and push through the mirrors of that story and you will find that heroine was me.

It wasn't only my runny nose, chesty cough, bags under the eyes and rash around my nose from blowing it that got me down, it was the general feelings of lackluster and overall missing of my- what I'm going to call "mojo" that had me struggling to get out of bed, feel like anything I was wearing looked decent, and crying inexplicably about three times in one week (not that is a bad thing.)

mojo¹

ˈməʊdʒəʊ/

noun

US

noun: mojo; plural noun: mojos

1. a magic charm, talisman, or spell.

   "someone must have their mojo working over at the record company"

   • influence, especially magic power.

     "the name has no mojo"

   early 20th century: probably of African origin; compare with Gullah moco ‘witchcraft’.

mojo²

ˈməʊdʒəʊ,ˈməʊhəʊ/

noun

US

noun: mojo

1. a Cuban sauce or marinade containing garlic, olive oil, and sour oranges.

The context I am using it in, is not the Cuban sauce sense, but I definitely feel like life is more spicy when there is mojo around. The modern colloquial definition this word is commonly coming to mean, is personal confidence, charisma, and tenacity.
I don't know if it is a 'performer' thing, or an everybody thing, but I'm going to give it a red hot go at explaining to you my musings.
Some of you reading this might always have a relatively good base level mojo, which then peaks at parties, when you do well at work, or are "in the zone" in a sports game/ relationship.  
Some of you reading this might feel like you had loads of mojo when you were younger, fitter, or more fulfilled. I don't know if these objective things have a direct correlation to the magic that is one's personal confidence and charisma- but here I want to explore and challenge that; and go on a quest to master and manifest my mojo, even when the chips are down.

Anyways, so there I was, last week, with no mojo in my dojo, feeling a little low low, indulging myself in cocoa, not feeling the up and go go.
Fortunately, I was flown to Byron Bay to perform at Splendour in the Grass music festival. The combination of warm weather and time onstage doing what I love making people laugh, heckling passers by and then post show shenanigans including a ukelele jam till sunrise put the spring back in my step somewhat. 

I have found that mojo has to come from within, but other things can help bring it out. It can't be forced, or the same as your friend's. It waxes and wanes in volume, and everyone restores it in different ways. I have found it also might not be completely useful to throw your mojo around willy nilly, but can make life extremely colourful if injected into relatively mundane situations, like going to the supermarket. My mojo was missing for a few reasons, the weather, sickness, burying myself in business and routine and not contacting those who lift me up, another one being that my time was spent on comparison to others and was a distraction for me seeing my "me-ness"  (for you, your "you-ness")

PUT THE "YOU" IN UNIQUE. 

To master my mojo I guess I needed to restore faith in myself and unique set of gifts that bring a spark to people's eyes and lives, including mine. I also needed the contrast of the mojo-less time to hibernate and be the very hungry caterpillar who just needed to quietly go about its' business, eating cucumber sandwiches and cakes until it was ready to become a butterfly.

If you are furrowing your brow, somehow confused at the way I am darting around talking about Cuban sauces, uniqueness, and caterpillars, apologies. It's what I am going to call "the process". The karate kid was confused when Mr Miyagi was getting him to wax on and wax off, and that was a process too. My writing about this is my way of feeling through the dark to the find and maintain the sparkle I was missing. Even as doing so, I am quietly freaking out and umming and ahhing about whether to actually publish this, as I have had some people challenge the things I am writing which I have taken very personally (even though they were justified.)

 I am hoping that by sharing this with you, I am getting you to think about your own personal magical mojo. Maybe you take a step back and give yourself a giant high 5. Maybe you scratch your head and reflect and look at things that might need slowing down (eg work) or changing (eg lifestyle) because they are stopping you from putting the YOU in YOUNIQUE. 

At Splendour in the Grass, as well as some great headline musicians, I saw some smaller musicians and also spoken word artists who showed me how powerful words are. These artists bared their souls and ideas and got into my heart and showed me how they can change the world with words. It left me inspired that I have the skills to scratch the surface and do the same, and I guess that is what I am chipping away at here. 

People say to me "wow, you are so brave that you can get onstage and do comedy and be such funny, witty characters and make your own work!"

Well, there are times where writing and publishing this blog has me much much more scared than that.

So, I'm going to dig up that personal confidence- master my mojo, and publish this before the spark goes.

You rippa!

Jj 

Life is but a dream

After four nights apart, she is bubbling with excitement as she walks through the airport terminal.
A quick check of her hair in the one way glass and practices a cute, demure facial expression that doesn't come as naturally as she would like, but makes her feel ladylike all the same.

Hours earlier her face was not ready to see the world, still waking up ready to catch the early flight. She wrapped her scarf around her face like a blindfolded mummy to try and get some sleep on the flight. A romantic reunion isn't quite right with puffy pink eyes.

The sun is shining as she walks through the crisp morning air of this new city across to the pickup zone. Her love sweeps past her in his grandma's car, both by ownership and nature, and steps out to wrap her in his strong arms. Upon the cusp of swooning, she asks him how he is, doing the look she practised earlier. "Sick." He responds. "I've got a cold."
"I missed you." She said. He coughs, and they pull out of the airport into the wintry morning sun. 

They make the most of the glorious heat tingling their backs through wooly jerseys with a walk through the botanical gardens, recapping the events, exciting and emotional that passed in the half week of each other's absence. Over their lattes and gourmet baguette she tears up, and he pulls her close. His soft heart beat and woven scarf are familiar feelings, and provide her comfort as she nestles closer. He looks down at her fondly, and smiles saying "did you just wipe your nose on my shoulder?"
Staring up at his face into the glare of the soft July sun, full of love she coyly responds, "yes."
And she meant it a thousand times over. 

💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕🍪🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌵🌳🌳🌳🌳🌳🌳🌳🍆🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🍄💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

They awoke to the sounds of the country- birds whistling, the wind arching the trees, and a chainsaw not too far beyond the Adelaide hills. Buried beneath the blankets, she turns her head on the soft pillow and hazily gazes at her love, who gracefully sits up, looks over her and gives her a silken stroke on the forehead. He blows his nose, powerfully. She cannot believe the masculine gusto he can rouse to blow and blow and blow, till his sinuses are exhausted. He tosses the loo roll aside, and she tosses her hair, matted and frizzy, from flippantly thinking a hairbrush isn't necessary, and having to throw it out at the gate at the airport because of budget airline carry on luggage restrictions. But that doesn't matter now.  He gets up to get dressed, the palpitations of her heart quicken and she ignores the tickle in the back of her throat indicating her immunity is not as strong as her passion. This is the time for sipping wine by the fire, not strepsils and lemon honey ginger.
He gives her a gentle pat on the bottom in approval as she dresses for the day.
And he meant it. 

🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🍑💚💚💚💚💚💚💚🍫🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓💨💘💘💘💘💘💘💘👅🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁

His innovative father has installed a spa in the hexagonal glass-house like bungalow. The couple strip down and step into the soothing waters, as the morning light shines through the stained glass window. She closes her eyes and tips her head back as the jets caress her sore, city strained muscles. She takes a deep breath feeling relaxation and contentment wash over her. The warmth of the chlorinated water oozes through her skin and she ruminates that this couldn't get more perfectly picturesque. They converse openly, dropping in and out of silence to soak up the atmosphere. After some moments, she glances over at him to exclaim how happy she is in this wonderful moment, but he interrupts her with a deep, honest statement, "I feel like eating chips."

Oh, how his clear motivation and drive makes her so glad he is a part of her world. 

And what a wonderful world it is. 

🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🍷💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞🍏🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🎂💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

Days roll into nights spent reading, drinking hot toddies by the fire, and staying out of the rain. The tickle in the back of her throat has swelled to an infection, igniting her desire to wear scarves to bed. They lie side by side listening to the morning shower on the roof of the caravan, and she releases herself from the hand knitted binds. They nestle closer, limbs intertwine, grateful for body heat and heart beats. She turns to him, with her head on that same soft pillow and says "I love you"

He pulls her closer and responds with "you still have some snot coming out of your nose."

She blushes and brushes it away with the bed sheet.

"And I love you too." 

Her time there is up. They go to the airport. 

In a hasty goodbye, she realises she left her pyjamas behind. He holds her and in between soft kisses says he will bring them, eventhough it actually looks like she is always wearing her pyjamas.

Because life is but a dream. 

Jj