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

Warning: rant (followed by some fluffy stuff)

NOTE: This post was written in the heat of the moment. I used writing as an emotional outlet which was very useful at the time. In a flurry of fast typing I then had to try simmer down, patiently sit in this dark, uncomfortable, angry zone. It helped me get perspective; which I have now. After some time and sunshine I came see that the light on the other side is forgiveness.

It's hard to forgive in times like what you are going to read about below, as we feel that by not forgiving a person, we have some kind of power over them. The only thing that does in fact, is make us stew and pickle and give us more wrinkles and disease and be generally unpleasant. 

I after writing this rant and coming to some clarity on WHAT it was I was feeling; I could step back and look at the sides of the coin and see HOW I was feeling about it; and then, the golden one- what I was going to CHOOSE to feel about it. 

So, to put the post in context, I had tried calling someone who was cowardly not responding to me and then discovered they BLOCKED ME on Friendsfacebook.

********************

warning: rant.

Right. So normally I try to have very uplifting lighthearted messages on here. That's the aim. But; my current sentiment (This is Stories, Sentiments and Sometimes Stupidity after all) is that what is the appropriate way to communicate has gone very skewed, and people are getting away with being dishonourable and thinking it's ok.

There's a part of me that really wants to name and shame the ways that this has happened in my life this week, but that's just adding fuel to the fire. I will instead give you as much allusion to the situations as possible and you can join the dots yourself, just like what you have to do when you hear an announcement over the loud speaker at the train station which is just a muffly voice saying "can all the passengers going to *rustle rustle* at *rustle rustle* o'clock go to *rustle rustle feedback* and *squeak rustle fuzz* cancelled." 

People who I have had adult relationships with who I loved very much- just not answering my calls or messages because of getting the pip or being too afraid. It seems like it is too easy these days to just hide and delete "read receipts" and turn phones to silent or aeroplane mode, thinking that you are saving face but all you are doing is loosing respect and slowly chipping off your own integrity; setting your moral compass off course- but of course your moral compass has been replaced by a GPS. SIRI gently telling you which route to go to avoid tolls, traffic, or being honest about why you can't respond to a message. 

I think the reason it is really digging the prickle into my shoe is that it feels like this is a reflection on me. That I choose to accept and surround myself with such people and behaviour. Is blogging about it going to help?

Maybe it's going to let my readers know that this happy go lucky, freckled, cheesy pun maker can be a force to be reckoned with and is becoming less and less afraid to stand up to that flim-flam. Sure, actions speak louder than words and writing about it on the internet makes me as weak as every other keyboard warrior, but at least writing about it helps me understand it better, so I can decide where to from here. 

I thank my lucky stars that I have been raised and kept on track by my parents and siblings, and have some mates who have fully called me out on my stuff; made it hurt, cut me off, but at least been honest about it. It sucked at the time to receive some intense phone calls, text messages or letters telling me that I was completely out of order, disappointed them, and they don't want to see me again, but at least I wasn't left drifting in no mans' land getting annoyed while pressing REFRESH.

Because that is everything less than refreshing. 

************

end rant. (i got interrupted and subsequently cheered up)

My brow has since unfurled, breath rate decreased. 

It's like the calm after the storm. Luckily the storm was held in private rather than unleashing publicly and causing mass destruction that could have taken a long time to rebuild (like reputation or relationships, for example.)

In a timely manner, I discovered this page in "Rising Strong" by legend Brene Brown.

Integrity is:

choosing courage (calling me back even when you know you have to own up to doing a dodgy)

over comfort (hiding/blocking/ignoring)

Choosing what is right (maintaining a good moral compass, keeping relationships respectful)

over what is fun, fast or easy (hiding/blocking/alluding to topics/making jokes)

and choosing to practice our values (I am forgiving these people and am brainstorming ways of getting back in touch)

rather than simply professing them (writing this/ranting no end., especially on facebook, like "Some people need to ....")

And..... exhale.

Thank you Brene, and thank you for coming along with me on this rollercoaster. I would love to hear if this happens to you and what you think.

And now, for the most awesome meme I saw this week:

Jj