Returning

I’m waiting for my return flight to Melbourne from Bangkok.

I was here in Thailand for a week.

A week on an island doing Muay Thai, yoga, SUP boarding, drinking coconuts and walking in the rain.

And now I am returning.

Going away makes you see coming back with a different lens.

I’m trying to return to writing this blog.

I want to return to writing here because I still want to be able to return to reading here. Old posts that make my eyes roll sometimes and other times have bought tears to them. A notion I know can be self-indulgent but I’m wanting to start tiptoeing away from the antipodean need for self-deprecation so I’m going to say it anyways.

There’s more space for Stories, Sentiments and Sometimes Stupidity now that uni is on holidays and Spiritual Gangster, my newest solo show, is done.

(That process alone is something I must write about!) 

There’s space that was created during a full week away where I have been able to either not respond to messages or respond with “I’m in Thailand, I’ll get back to you.” 

Space that was carved out by looking out the window on a bus when I finished reading my book or standing under a shelter waiting for the monsoon rain to stop that I didn’t fill with phone scrolling or wondering what I was going to cook for dinner or whether I was going to be late.

Go with me on this- it’s like making coffee.

You can do it in a machine; where the coffee is furiously ground then pressured firmly then hot water blasted through it and it takes 30 seconds an BOOM! 

Strong, bitey, sometimes burnt caffeinated gold.

Or

You can make it pour over style, call it hipster or whatever, but the coffee is corsely ground, then a little bit of water poured on, then you wait 30 seconds. Then a bit more water, bit more waiting so the coffee has time to BLOOM.

That’s genuine coffee jargon for what happens when you make a coffee like this.

5 minutes later, the result is more subtle, lighter on the tongue, caffeinated gold.

When there’s space, things can be a little lighter or clearer; like when you finally tidy the Tuppaware cupboard and you can find the container and the lid as easy as the people on the infomercials do.

Back to Thailand...About 4 days in I was supping a coconut writing in my journal and I realised I had returned to myself. 

It’s a strange concept, I mean, it’s not like I left my body and went away to get stuff done then come back with a tan and penchant for papaya salad for breakfast. 

My meditation practice allows me to return to myself daily. But I guess it’s the thing when you are travelling alone that you really have to really work that groove into the couch that is sitting in yourself, and make it comfortable.

When you are travelling in Asia it’s a very sweaty groove. 

It’s mid-December. In a week I’m returning to my hometown, something that makes me happy and a touch nervous.

Not because I might not win the Rosie O’Grady’s Christmas Eve karaoke contest and play out the events of when I was robbed of the title in 2011.  

Because when we return, we notice what is different compared to when we leave.

Or what hasn’t changed.

As we come to the holiday where commercialism sponges up our spare time over the next 15 days, as does planning, travel, cooking and worry, I am going to try remember the waiting in the rain. Remember seeing the thumbnail of pink sunset in the sky as my plane was landing, and how the seconds between day and night were filled with the finale that is sunset.

On the island I got to see several of those. 

A finale that happens everyday, the sun returning to the horizon, off the edge of the earth for a few hours till it returns to the dawn sky. We have the golden opportunity every 10 or so hours to witness it.

If we just make the space for it.

I put onions in my socks

Well, not all of the time, just last night.
I gave it a go out of desperation, as I have fallen ill with a silly snotty nose AGAIN.
I got a free onion at uni, they give out free veg on Mondays and a few knobbly brown onions were the only things left so half of it went into my risotto and the other half into my socks when I went to sleep last night.

It's an old wives tale that putting onions in your socks draws out the bad stuff and cures one of their ailments. 

Initially, the onions had a slight cooling effect on my feet. I didn't do too much research but I was sure I didn't need to brown them in a pan with some garlic before putting them on, so just closed my eyes and drifted off. I didn't quite manage to get to sleep before I realised I would need to set my alarm 8  minutes earlier to allow time to de-onion my feet before starting my day, so did so, and went to the land of nod.

5.23am 

Alarm went off.

Didn't go to the toilet upon waking because onions in socks made me not want to make onion footprints around the house.

Meditated, fell asleep.

Decided not to go to 6.30am boxing because I still felt grotty.

Reset alarm.

6.47am

Alarm went off for 7.30am yoga.

Squelched way downstairs to the toilet. Walking with onions in socks is softer than pebbles, kind of feels like walking on snow or frost. Challenges balance, slightly crunchy and wet. Retraced onion footprints up the stairs. Sniffed one to see how fresh it was. Smelt nothing. Nose is still blocked. 

6.50am

Heard awful wind outside and decided it's not the weather to be going out and about in. Also, onions are keeping feet warm. Onion socks won't fit in sneakers. Went back to sleep.

7.33am

Woke up for real, squelched downstairs to make a coffee and breakfast, ate it in bed. Checked if onion socks have made a brown mark on the brown sheets. Only on the top layer. 

7.45am

Took off onion socks, left them on the floor. Couldn't smell onions but then again nose is very very blocked, so it didn't work. Considered blowing nose on onion sock. It's going to be washed anyway. Refrained as nose is sore and rashy and onions make you cry. 

8.20am

Emptied sock onion mush into plastic bag, left it sitting on the floor, decided to write about it.

Here we are.

The only conclusion I have as to whether it cures colds is putting onions in your socks is; there is a greater likelihood to make you stay in bed. Which is probably what cures colds. I am still feeling a little guilty for not making my morning exercise, but am learning- "rest is best" - a post I wrote this time last year....full circle. 

The other conclusion I can make is that this experiment went way better than that time I tried this similar method but with garlic. I didn't research it and my cousin said 'use garlic' and I crushed raw garlic and wrapped my feet in that and gladwrap like a microwave baked potato then put socks on and went to bed. Wanting to get a good night's sleep, as that was what I needed, I tried to ignore the burning sensation the garlic was giving my tootsies, knowing it was the vampires of my cold just dying and it must be working.

Turns out raw crushed garlic burns your skin.

Turns out she mean whole cloves.

I had to wake up in the night several times and soak my feet in the bath.

The next day I had blisters on the arches of my feet.

Let me know if you want a minute by minute account of THAT wives tale, or any others you think I should try. 

Jj

Back to blogging 2

This hiatus has been longer than the last few. 

It’s been so long I was wondering whether it was the end of Stories Sentiments and Sometimes Stupidity, whether I’ve outgrown it or now that I’m embarking down the path that is university as a mature age student (WHAT) whether I’ll have the time for it.

What has prompted me to write this (aside from that I’ve been meaning to write for ages) was I sent an old post to a new friend. Before sending it, I re-read it and it bought a smile to my face. This blog has been a constant intestine for me to digest the food for thought for more than five years, and being able go back and see how my taste and ability to stomach and process things has changed is a lovely thing.

I know my commitment to readers has probably made them drop off, and so I’ll have to come grovelling back, but it has to start somewhere.

There’s a few reasons why I stopped writing for a while.

I’m not going to mention them, but all I will say is that I know they are going to shape me to be a better writer.

After all, it’s those textures we come up with after being buried that allow us to blossom. 

Whilst I haven't been writing on here I have been exposing myself to many different forms of art, prose, writing and witticisms, and I am growing to understand other words on a different level to before.

Like last weekend when I was performing at Splendour in the Grass festival and band All our Exes Live in Texas’ ballads sent the tears rolling down my cheeks. 

I never connected with lyrics in the same way before. 

Or when a yoga teacher drops a smidge of poetry or philosophy into a class and the hairs on my sweaty arms stand up.

My sweaty hairs didn't stand up before.

Or when all of the creative wise people around me pour out their beings on one platform or another.

Or when my sister strongly tells me of the joys and challenges of being a mum to a newborn and a toddler.

These words I connect with so much more now than I did before. 

More than six months through the year and I am still forcing myself again to “slow down baby” as I wrote at the beginning of this year (note that post also comes after a writing hiatus bahhh.)

One thing I am going to mention that has stopped me from writing is the block of calling oneself "a writer." I went for a walk in the Dandenong ranges with a friend on Friday (that was part of slowing down) and he commented on how I'm a writer. I responded with "pish"....

Elizabeth Gilbert (author of Eat, Pray, Love and Big Magic) has a podcast called Magic Lessons, where she talks to Q-List schmucks like myself and challenges them to make the art they have always wanted, then talks with actual established authors, poets and artists about ways the person can fully own their creativity. 

One question she often asks people is - "Who is it that says you are a writer?" and "why should it not be you? You wrote a letter to me, you ARE a writer." 

I think we struggle with titles a lot now, because the internet has allowed us to branch out and run businesses and publish things from our bedrooms. 

I could go on about that, but there's just a little seed to plant for you.

I'm (nervously) giving myself permission to call myself a writer- to add to the list of other things I now call myself (which changes all the time.)

Because life is too short to hide that little light away and let this story, these sentiments, and sometimes the stupidity die a ghosted death on the internet like a Tinder match that you never manage to tee that date up with even though you knew it would be amazing.

The final thing which roused me to get a tap tap tappin' on they keys was my boss, a blokey bloke, showed me a piece of writing that was from the heart, a little piece of art. Something he had never written before or shown to anyone, and that is a bloody brave, and very blokey move. 

So here I am, back to blogging. Maybe once a fortnight or every week, and I do have a stash of poems I wrote when I was a child I can just recycle, but I'm getting it done.

What are you going to give yourself permission to do creatively?

It doesn't have to leave your bedroom or your lips.

But doing it,

Just for the sake of it,

is magic.

And you don't have to be Harry Potter to know there needs to be a little more magic in the world.

Jj

Some things I would tell my teenage self about dance

This weekend I had the privilege of going to a dance convention in Hamilton. It's called Phoenix dance workshops, and is held annually where a bunch of choreographers and professional dancers from the States come down under to teach hundreds of dancers aged 12 up to advanced from all parts of the upper North Island, choreography from a whole bunch of different genres. 

Then as the weekend goes on, the ones who shine get chosen to perform in front of the whole convention or scholarships to go study in the states or come to the convention the next year. It's a great chance to learn new stuff, push oneself to learn tons of chorey and perform it quickly, and meet other dancers; like Beyonce and Justin Timberlake.*

* Not actually but the Blue Power Ranger was there for a bit

I first went to these workshops when I was 12. It was just before I started getting self conscious and I wore glitter on my face so I would stand out. I still remember some of the hip hop choreography (that was to Justin Timberlake) and lyrical that was to Cindy Lauper's 'True Colours.' 

Year after year I got excited to go back, but remember feeling pretty nervous. I loved performing and learning all the new steps, and putting myself in the front row, but always felt like I had to hold back so as not to show off in front of the other people from my class who had been raised in tall poppy syndrome society, and because it was also one of the few times we got to socialise outside of dance class I didn't want to ruin my chances at making friends.

The choreographers would give us all-American inspirational pep talks "this is your moment!" "I want to see you!" "I know it's hard, but if you really want this, show me."

I had forgotten about those until this weekend, where we got the same schpeals.

This time, it was nice to listen to the pep talks and know what they are talking about, rather than shy away from them impatiently because I didn't know how to show them who I was inside because I didn't know that myself.

It took me right back to listening to the same schpeal all those years ago, I felt that same heavy feeling in my heart of "I'm not really trying my all, because I'm afraid/ not good enough/ too fat/ don't want to show off."

But thus time around, I shook that right off and kicked butt. (My sore body the next day proved it.)

Well, in spirit of this and also that 2018 marks 125 years that women have had the vote in NZ (we were the first in the world you know!) AND that I turned 28 this week, here's a brief list, cliche as it is, of what I would have told my teenage self before going to these dance workshops.

1. This is the place to give it your all- that's not showing off.

2. Don't be affected by others' opinions, hair styles, crop tops or splits.

3. You have some unique creative quirky ideas. GO WITH THEM.

4. You forgot the steps because your brain was full of comparing yourself? Stop it.

5. Being from America is cool, but being from NZ is way cooler. 

6. The other girls from dancing go to a different school than you and that is probably saving you a lot of drama, even though you feel left out most of the time.

7. You are so so lucky to be here. To afford it, to afford dance shoes, lunch and all.

8. This is setting you up really well to get used to handling rejection. Yay!

9. RELAX

10. I love watching you light up a room.

Jj

on Full Moons

Like someone's iphone screen on bright 

in the cinema

This Easter's full moon lit up the sky

I got to see it from the bush

Where the tent lights didn't out shine the stars

And the moon was a milky white hunk 

of lunar bliss

This March was the custodian of two moons

The second one, being a Blue 

The last blue moon until 2020

Now that's worth writing a song about,

Oh wait, someone already has

So here is my ode

It's not a sonnet, a limerick, or a haiku

There's no form, no rhyme or scheme

Under the Blue Moon I saw a spoken word artist

A true poet spill her soul 

and was filled with light inspired

Under the Blue Moon all kinds of magic 

bubbled and boiled and brewed

The morning came and the moon was still there

It's dust sprinkled over those still awake

A sun drenched haze of silver and gold

They coughed and sneezed

It could have been from real dust

Or talking and singing all night

Of their joys and woes of full moons ago

Under the Blue moon

It's poetic enough to swoon

and my words don't do it justice

This ode isn't to outshine it's memory

Though it might vaguely etch it in my mind

It's the most blog worthy thing that comes to my fingertips

The image of it 

Still glimmering in my eyes

I viewed it from a place where people were howling at it

where we danced by the fire

to the drum

A story to tell the Grandkids I guess

In many Blue Moons to come

Jj

Gone bush...searching for patience

Tomorrow is the last day that I am teaching 'Circus Week' here in Swifts Creek, rural Victoria. So rural the town has a hall, an IGA, a pub, a school and no almond milk for miles. 

They have put us up in a lovely little miners' cottage, and I have been waking before the sun comes up whilst everything is quiet to practice yoga as the birds wake up and the light starts to dissolve over the hills into the sky. After school, been processing the day with long bush walks featuring parakeet, bellbird, gallah, kookaburra and roo sightings, and the evening cooling the hills before an early night.

Bushwalk view. My friend said I look surprised in this pic but really I'm just waiting for selfie timer.

These parts of my day have been my refuge as the teaching itself has bought it's challenges. The 11 year 8 students here come from rural families in all flavours and varieties. The country culture makes the accents thick, desire to be seen failing or looking stupid in front of your mates low (most 13 year olds aren't keen on that) need to be the centre of attention and amount of eye rolls per minute by some classmembers high. 

I was hired by a wonderful soul to team up with her to create a show in a week for these kids, she has come to this school twice before. We have been working with them all day everyday, teaching them poi, staff, hoops, choreography, acrobalance, tumbling and tramp to make into a 20 minute. Learning such skills requires a lot of patience, a lot of time spent not getting it right, getting back up and doing it again. 
For some members of the class, if they didn't get the staff straight away, or had to stand and listen to how to do it, they would immediately give up. They trash talk their mates, hit them with the staff, lie on the floor in the middle of the class, ruining it for the rest of the group who were working hard, picking the staves up if they dropped em and giving it another crack. 

As a dance and acrobatics teacher; I used to be really mean. I used to death stare 10 year olds, point at someone then point to the door, signalling for them to get out without explaining why. I would shake my head disappointedly and yell and scream till my voice was horse. Not every class I taught, but some. 
Cue 5 years of life experience- a lot of inward reflection, a serious meeting with a parent who didn't hold back, forgiving myself, and yoga teacher training, and I have softened a lot.
And by jingo has it made it a way more enjoyable experience.
Still; this week has made me want to go back to some of those old ways. 
Of using fear as a tool rather than being an inspiration. 
Shaming them into doing it right probably like whoever they have at home is doing, calling people weak, pussies, girls, sooks, and all that that I hear them call each other.

These bush walks have given me time to reset each day, fill up the patience tank so that I only shove them into their spots twice a day rather than shove them off that big hill I sat on for the picture.

"Patience is not simply the ability to wait- it's how we behave whilst we are waiting."

Patience doesn't come easy. It requires effort, so that things can be easier later. Kind of like making your lunch the night before requires effort but makes the morning easier. Or how calling your friend to tell them you can't come to their party on Saturday takes effort but it is easier than having your friend be upset at you and maybe not want to invite you next time....(oooohhhh I have a post about that here)

How perky is your patience muscle? If a youtube video takes too long to load, do you just sit and look out the window, or open 20 other tabs/apps, which also take time to open......
Does waiting for a toddler to tie their shoes make you want to cut your toes off?
Is waiting for your toast in the toaster make you want to go to hell and back just because you know hell is hot and at least that must mean your toast will be made faster?

I still don't know if they are going to come to school tomorrow for the performance. 
I don't know if they are going to remember the bits that they are in and aren't in, or if I tell them they are standing in the wrong spot they will roll their eyes and walk offstage. 
I know that if they do pull through, they will feel an awesome sense of achievement with their mates clapping for them and see that hard work pays off. 

Cheesy I know, but there's no almond milk here.

Jj 

I am a machine, not an ornament

This has been my mantra over the past while.
I have tried to hold fast to this since my time in Adelaide, which was very enjoyable due to all the pub meals and little exercise I was doing, but weeks after has left me feeling a little doughy around the middle.

The world we live in teaches us that trim and toned is better - for me, as a yoga teacher and performer, I worry that my credibility might sag if my bum does too.

Some of us have these strange yardsticks that we stick to; indicators that we are in shape or not. Be it the way your jeans feel, the amount of nights in a row drinking beer, or sweaty workouts in a week. Whilst the ones I listed aren't THAT far fetched; if you have more than one yard stick that isn't quite measuring the way it should be then you have a huge game of pickup sticks when you get back to reality. 
Or do you even need to?

This is something I have been telling myself. This change- adding a little bit of festive padding to my body hasn't made any different to my ability to do my work, write this post, see my friends, speak to my family and do handstands, boxing and ride my bike everywhere. 
It hasn't changed my health (though that Dr I went to ages ago and calculated my BMI and as it was on the cusp of the top end of the higher range asked me if I was conscious of this and I politely told her to back off might argue.)

I am a machine, not an ornament.

A machine needs fuel, it needs maintenance sometimes, but can still run for ages even if it is a bit old or makes a creek.
An ornament needs dusting. An ornament's pure function is for looking at, and my function is to give big hugs, do the macarena and make sure my plants don't die.

I could go waaaayyyyy more into this. 
But, this way of thinking ("I'm not .......enough") Is a LIFE THIEF
It robs us of our brain space, our happiness, our confidence and our money and time.

So I shall not spend another tooting second taking about THAT.

Let's talk about what's next- Teaching kids in the bush, Confest, Dance and Family adventures in NZ and finding a new job when I get back to Melb.

Hire me! I am a machine! (not an ornament) That loves cake! (and cardio)

You can have both.

Jj

Yuggen - not a brand of Nordic Yoghurt

Thanks to everyone who read last week's post. Here is something completely different- zooming out on life for a moment.

“To watch the sun sink behind a flower clad hill. To wander on in a huge forest without thought of return. To stand upon the shore and gaze after a boat that disappears behind distant islands. To contemplate the flight of wild geese seen and lost among the clouds…” ~Zeami Motokiyo

Yuggen is “An awareness of the universe that triggers such an emotional response that it is too deep for words.

This is a concept that was presented to me in my daily calm (from Calm meditation app- it’s awesome.)

We don’t have a word for it in English; that feeling you get when you look at a vast starry night and suddenly realise how incredible that we are on this Earth that spins at 1000 miles per hour and is that is orbiting around the sun at about 30km per second, and doesn’t even mess up our hair.* And how massive this Earth is but compared to the Universe it’s a tiny speck. You feel such a sense of wonder you can’t describe it so you feel Yuggen.

Domou Arigato Mr Robato, and the rest of Japan for it’s awesome words and concepts.

I felt Yuggen several times in Adelaide. Nights spent in the Ute in rural S.A blanketed by the stars, and waking to see a huge swarm of ants working together to move a crumb to their hole. We went snorkeling around the reef at Point Noarlunga, and got to explore all the little nooks and crannies and fish of different varieties in their schools hanging about. A week on, it feels somewhat distant.

I guess this concept fits into the category of “things I remind myself of when things get overwhelming.” Our minds love being distracted, and have been for a very long time. Socrates was around when the greek alphabet was being developed. He was sure that now people were writing things down it would diminish the mind, distracted us with an excess of information, weaken the memory and recall as necessitated by the oral tradition, and over-simplified the complexity, flow, and development of ideas that happens in dialogue, his preferred form of communication. I wonder how he would react to know that our attention span was 12 seconds in 2000 before smart phones then reduced to 8 seconds in 2016.

What does that have to do with Yuggen? Well, I am going to try and divert my 8 second attention span to the bigger picture where possible. To look up or out at a view and think “How great thou art.”

8 seconds of one’s day to do that is still something, and in the words of Flight of the Conchords- “Two seconds in heaven are better than one second in heaven.”

Jj

*That line is kind of taken from Tim Minchin’s song “Not Perfect.” You can watch him sing it here.

Netwerking

I am writing this sitting at a brunch bar at my boyfriend's father's place in the Adelaide hills. The sun is glistening over the paddock, I can see birds and butterflies and hear my boyfriend jamming on the keyboard. We slept in a tree house last night.
Aside from being here for such splendid adventures where your only obligation is to chill (not easy for me sometimes) and no one notices if you stay in your harem pants that you may have slept in all day, I'm in this part of the world for the spectacle that is Adelaide Fringe Festival.

I have wanted to come to this festival for ages. 
It has intimidated me though, hearing about how competitive for audiences and venues it is, about how everyone is an artist or a producer and in multiple shows and get introduced to amazing connections and inspired and all. How there are multiple shows on every night and actual workshops and seminars that are free for artists. How every hour is filled with art and exploration. Writing this sentence now; I see that this is actually something to be incredibly excited by, as opposed to intimidated- but potato potaaato.

I am here for a minor role in a friend's show; which is actually a true gift because I get all those perks with minimal financial risk......but, and this almost totally contradicts my last blog but contrast is what keeps things spicy right?
BUT...the ego stroke aka stage highs (any performer/musician/ extrovert will know what I am on about) aka having people see you do a cool thing that you made and worked really hard on and getting to wear cool costumes every night is not there. 
SO, my same confidence and fire to get netwerking (the definition on that in a hot sec) doesn't come as easily.

NETWERKING is different to NETWORKING

Networking is something you do between offices, colleagues, friends, at small parties, art galleries etc; where you chat to someone you don't know about what you do and turns out they just so happen to hire people like you and oh how nice well maybe you should look me up sometime and maybe then in a few days they send you a friendly nice to meet you let's have coffee and talk about working for me email.

NeTWERKING is what you do at Adelaide Fringe. (You probably do it at Melbourne Fringe, but Melb Fringe is really cliquey so it's probably better to call it Netbumkissing)
For those who think the macarena is the latest dance craze; I am going to shatter that bubble by explaining to you that twerking is making the macarena look like bland macaroni.
Here are some pictures to describe it to you, see the bottom one.

Basically it's like a pelvic thrust but backwards, and can be done against a wall, in a handstand, in the splits and of course, in da club.
When one Netwerks, one not only must meet and greet, one must do it in a fabulous, captivating but slightly aggressive way. You've got to show them how much junk (talent) you have in your humps (person) and make it all feel like a party. After all, it can be really fun.

For me, I am caught in this little nook where I want to be as authentic and grounded as possible but still get my netwerk on- I mean you have to be in it to win it right?
In a festival filled with colour, costumes, professional show offs, how does one make an impression?
After spending the morning relaxing in the hills eating buckwheat and tumeric and listening to the sound of the pond and the frogs, it takes some adjusting to get hustling the hustle...and even worse, bustle. 

"But what do you mean?"
You ask.
"You are crazy, confident and did a weird open mic thing last week as you wrote in last week's blog which I really appreciated"
You say.

Yes, see, right next to that confidence is comparison and competition which is the thief of courage and joy. It is what makes us feel like we need to not wear our favourite clothes but the ones that we think are cool, or speak in a certain way to the right people. Last night we were standing outside a show and I couldn't concentrate on what the person in front of me was saying because I was looking around for someone I know from the industry to netwerk with. 
Ultimate conversational faux pas. 

The best kind of networking is being kind, being reliable and being good at what you do.

For me, there's nothing better than seeing someone doing an amazing thing onstage and then finding out that they are also a wonderful person.
A person who has lots of friends who they introduce you to who are also really nice, and so you are having fun and go out dancing.
None of them are trying to prove how hot they are, or looking around the club to see if anyone is looking at them, they are just getting lost in the music.
You talk to them about loads of stuff, like where they grew up and what their dog is called, and suddenly "Low" by Flo Rider comes on.
You suddenly recall all those fly hip hop Michael Jackson dance moves and everyone is getting their groove on. 
You look across at your new friends squatting low and doing reverse pelvic thrusts and realise that these guys are great and make you inspired and feel good.
That you are going to stay in touch and try go to more events like this where they are.

And THAT
Is Netwerking.

Jj

Outside the Zomfort Cone

Something that I haven't mentioned in the blog is that usually once a week, I don head gear (not a fruit hat), put in a mouthguard (not for teeth whitening) and spar for an hour as the sun comes up on a Tuesday. 
I have been sparring for 3 years, ever since becoming a member of the wonderful community that is North Melbourne Boxing and Fitness, and, though many people think I am crazy to agree to being punched in the head, it never ceases to teach me so many lessons.
1. On a physical level- about pushing yourself, focusing on one thing for a specific amount of time, breathing properly and staying calm (sounds like yoga; go figure)
2. If you don't move your head, you get hit.
3. On a mental level- you can't get overwhelmed by emotions.....some people like to get angry to fight, but I am one of those people that when I get angry sometimes I cry, and, well, crying really doesn't go well in the ring.
4. The major thing though it to continue the practice of climbing out of the zomfort cone.

 - To me, the zomfort cone (like the comfort zone) is the corner of an 'L' couch, where you are so wonderfully nestled and warm that even to contemplate getting up to go to the bathroom feels like effort.
- It's your daily routine that works so well, if it wasn't so routine.
- It's where you are good at things and everything comes easy

Now, the thing I loved about boxing when I first started was how I wasn't good at it, how there were people who would beat me every time. 3 years of consistent 3-4 times a week training down the track, my ego has caught up with me (the ego is so fast, but I shouldn't tell it that, I mean, it knows already, right?)
There's times where my head is bigger than my headgear can protect it. Going up against males in the class who are good sports, but still very strong can make the ego bruised.
The ego, in it's sweaty, bruised heap is telling me "this is no fun, I didn't wake up at 6am for this."
Briefly, I listen to it.
I consider just going back to the technique classes, no contact.
And then I realise that the ego needs a good bruising. It needs to be shown that it's not all it's hyped itself up to be and kicked in the dust, because it's there, that the ego needs to realise it was being a bad egg-o.

Following?
Essentially, that was my lesson this week, I thought it appropriate to share.
Then, last night, I went to an open mic- art party at this quirky house up the road from me. I genuinely wound up sitting in the corner of the L-couch, nestled in there watching the other brave souls get up and perform their new works to a lounge room of people. From my nestled little spot I thought "Yeah, I'm a performer, I could do that" (hello ego) "oh.. but I don't think I could with no costumes, everyone just there, on the floor."
The organiser signed me up for an open mic spot. Since I impulsively highlighted my hair that afternoon, I thought I might be impulsive and give this a shot too.
Gingerly, I told him I wanted to go early on in the night so I could go home. 
During the break, at 10.30, I told him I really wanted to go soon, but had committed to the challenge of getting up there (I had planned to tell a very dramatic story about a bee sting I got one time)
So he told me that if I did this other thing, I could go sooner. That thing was "room activation" where small groups would go to a different room of the house for a different performance. 
There, in someone else's bedroom, I ended up doing a thing to 4 small groups of people, so I did 4 x 5 minute performances. 
Flashbacks of my open mic debut when I was six at an athletics camp were still strong in my mind.
In that situation, there is no where to hide. They didn't really know what they were in for, and neither was I. 
Oh man, what a rush.

I left straight after, drenched in sweat, feeling exposed and weird. 
But now it's done, and I have written this post to help me process it, I am happy, though still shocked. 
Sharing it with you still brings back that exposed feeling, but after my performances last night (some better than others) the sky hasn't fallen in, so I guess I will be ok.

The final thing that made me commit to it was I was speaking to a friend earlier on in the evening I had not seen for a while. He looked so well, and was telling me how he has quit smoking, gone vegan and is sober. For him coming from a family of alcoholics, it was hard.
Going to a family event and not getting slizzered is the definition of being outside of the zomfort cone.
Bit by bit doing the hard thing but realising down the track it is the good thing makes it easier and easier.

And this is what inspired me to give up my spot in the L couch and cosy up to that which makes us uncomfortable. 

I would love to hear what you have been taking on lately that makes the hairs on your neck stand up a bit.

Jj


  

Slow Down, Baby!

"Once she stopped rushing through life, she was amazed at how much more life she had time for."

Here we are. 
Feb-who?Ary 1st, my 1st post for the year. 
Bang!

Feel that? 'tis the end of my writing hiatus. A long summer one.

I’ve had many things to write about- Christmas in NZ, family times, friend times, Falls fest, back to NZ for teaching dance for a weekend, Rainbow Serpent Fest- been under the pump spinning plates that have a bunch of tasty work things atop of them.

And now finally, I am in my office (Auction Rooms, North Melbourne) to sit down and write what I was wanting to on about the 29th December as a pre-New Year's resolution.

I stopped making resolutions a few years ago. It really took the pressure off. This time round, I'm going with intentions. The strongest intention for me is to SLOW DOWN.

I told my family this on the 26th December then we went to the park to do a High Intensity Interval training workout and clearly I had forgotten it as I was moving very quickly...but I wasn't talking about my workouts.

See, most of the time, I talk quickly, I eat quickly, I fold the laundry quickly and I react quickly. Whilst moving in such a way feels like I have more time to squeeze more things in; what it sometimes means is-

By talking quickly I am not present; am difficult to understand or might not listen properly.

By eating quickly I don't get full joy out of food and eat too much or aren't satisfied.

By folding the laundry quickly it doesn't get put away properly and then turns into an abyss of sheets, socks, shirts and stockings.

By reacting quickly, I get carried away on sweating the small stuff. And so on.

I'm not the only one who hums at this rate. I have also just had a coffee so the rate is sped up another notch. Our attention spans are shorter; so things generally move quickly from one idea to the next. Service is snappy, and we aren't used to having to wait (just think about that 3 minute window between the aeroplane landing and the seatbelt sign switching off.) 

When I think back to walking barefoot in India (I know that sounds like a really pretentious, trumpet blowing statement) so I'll change it to - when I think about walking barefoot on the hot sticky asphalt outside Write Price Supermarket in Wanganui in about 1998 (more roots, but same idea) I had to walk slowly- mindfully- to avoid burning my feet or getting stuck to the tar seal. You don't slow down, you get burnt. 

Walking slowly meant I saw much much more- like if you have tried walking a small child to school or day care; their little legs can only go so fast, but more to the point, their sponge like brains aren't full of appointments and self criticism, worrying about what people would think about them being late. They are more concerned with what the brick wall feels like, whether they can turn the neighbour's hose on, and if that thing in the sky is a bird or a plane. 

Meditation, prayer, yoga, mindfulness and watching paint dry all are so satisfying because we have to slow down. 

I'm going to meander to the shops, peruse the isles, and find something for lunch. I shall leave you with this titbit by John DePaola

"Slow down and everything you are chasing will come around and catch you."

Although my intention is this; the space between blogs won't be so great. If it is, you'll know why- I'm still folding my laundry.

Jj