Banging out a blog on Monday morning

Like that rash you thought you got rid of, I am back on this blog.

I thought that was it for me and Stories, Sentiments and Sometimes Stupidity. I thought we had broken up and not decided to be friends and it was amicable. 
That it was going to be a thing on the internet to remind me of my past like my Bebo account and that time I tried to be a Vlogger.

Study and creative endeavours have had my fingers tap tap tapping on these keys and not even a 2-month European excursion pulled me back to this page. (I thought about it, but really, who needs another travel blog)

But, with the power of caffeine and a psychology exam this morning that I could be studying for, I am here. 

I might be the only one.

Like the time the Prince kissed Sleeping Beauty without her consent, the spell is broken.

Spring is flirting her coyish charm, wafting her perfume in the air and showing a décolletage of sakura blossoms in Melbourne. She pretended she was here briefly and I dusted off the Northside uniform of cordeory overalls and birkenstocks with the accessory of avocado I dropped on it, but not today. Today I can see my breath in the kitchen when I sip this coffee, and it's not even that hot.

I feel like there's no one who doesn't know me who reads this, so not much to update, except that 2020 is closer to us than it has ever been.
I can remember when I wrote a story about what my life would be like in the year 2010 when I was at primary school, in the year 2000.

I had a ferrari.

There is more in the story, but that is the bar for ten years ago and this year my assets are a Bose bluetooth speaker and two pairs of identical Ray-Bans because I thought I lost the OG pair and bought another before anyone noticed but then found the old pair and the very same thing almost happened with the bluetooth speaker.
Oh and my monstera is doing well, thank you. 
Oh I also have a laptop, loving family and incredibly amazing morning routine.

It's that amazing it starts the night before. 

This morning though, like a kinder surprise or unexpected item in the bagging area it includes writing this pointless piece of internet drivel to distract you from the burning earth, homeless person you are walking past, ticket inspectors, whether your barista ACTUALLY used almond milk, your hangover, the gas bill, your work, casual sexism, casual racism, casual ageism, casual speciesism, feminism, veganism, your child, or whatever else reading this is stopping you from doing. 
I hope it made you crack a smile and, to be even riskier, makes you smile at someone else. A stranger.

You never know, a dude asked for my number at IGA when I was buying kombucha because I smiled at him the other day so anything is possible.

Happy Monday
JJ x

To every woman feeling bad in their bod.

This is mostly for me.
But from talking to lots of woman, this is for you too.
Guys, I know you feel this way, even if it's not as acceptable for you to talk about it, and if you don't, reading this might help you get what your partners, your daughters, your friends are going through, not always, but more times than is helpful. 

There have been various posts of this nature by me over the years, and many more I want to post but don't, because these thoughts are pretty personal. 

But, a few things lately have sparked me to do this.
I teach yoga and fitness at a forensic mental health facility, which means I have the option to be active most days. We can also do health coaching for staff, and the other day some of the ladies at work, who are now friends of mine, came in to weigh themselves for the first time in the year, after the holiday season.

Before any woman steps on the scales around me, I want to hold their hand, look them in the eye and tell them that whatever the number says is just a number. (I do tell them this, sometimes just without the hand holding.)
I want to tell them that it's just a representation of their gravitational pull on the ground, not on the way their eyes sparkle when they see someone they love, or makes them any less competent or interesting. 
I want to tell them that they have the choice to pay as much or little attention to the number if they want.
They can tell it to go and get stuffed.
I tell them if there's other things in their life that are demanding their focus, like a child, a new house, a sick parent, or a stressful job, it is ok. 
That the holiday season is to be enjoyed.
To remind them that we have been brainwashed by the media and "the man" (man!) to think that beauty fits one, smaller size, and that we fail as women if we are outside this. 
That yes being healthy and strong is important but spending too much time on the physical side of this is not all that hot if your head is weak and a horribly smelly place.
That their body is a vessel for a spirit. When one thrives, the other does. 

I guess it's nothing new, we are told these things all the time.
Then we work to accept ourselves "as we are" but when "as we are" is now 2kg heavier than "as we were" it is the worst. 

I want to tell women all of these things because I have to fight bloody hard to tell myself them on a regular basis.

The past few days, the fight has been too hard.
I was set off by seeing some pictures of me teaching a dance and yoga workshop last weekend, and having to to sew a costume, which means trying on tight things and spending time in front of the mirror.
In the pictures I don't see the 24 people I taught moving behind me. I don't see the compliments people gave me on my ability to make yoga accessible to them for the first time. 
I see the way I look.
I am not going to say any adjectives in here because that's feeding into the negative self talk, and that is not why I am writing this. 
I don't see the costume I made by using problem solving and winging it, making up a pattern from a pair of shorts that I have never done before and calmly sewed it for the first time on the machine from the 50s I inherited from my late Ma. I see the mirror reflecting vibes that don't serve me, yet I absorb anyway. 

The mirror doesn't reflect back the smile on my niece's face when I send her a snapchat. 

Women, I am so sorry we go through this. Not all of us do. 
I am so sorry for all of the times I have not been present in my life because I have been fixated on things I cannot change. 
I am sharing this, not to receive your reassurance, but to reassure myself. 
One of the gifts these years of headfuckery (sorry, I can't think of any other way to put it) has given me is the ability to make other people feel better in their bodies. Because I have to constantly do it for myself.
I'm grateful for that.
I loved being at Woodford Folk Festival over new year and getting to appreciate the beauty of all ages and shapes. 

It is with this that I am reminded of the African concept "Ubuntu."
I am, because you are.

If I can see the beauty in other women (without comparing myself)
Then I can see the beauty in me.
And so can you.

Here's a few punchy helpful suggestions of things to do when you aren't feeling the love
1. Do a karate kick like you are smashing down a door and say "back off, bad vibes!"
2. Slap your butt, maybe grab a bit and think how juicy it is.
3. Roll around on the ground. Or just lie on the ground
4. Make up some kind of rhyme or rap to make the sitch ridic
5. Remind yourself that most body satisfaction comes later in life, so just go along with it for now. 
6. Wear power pants, or no pants, which are also power pants. 
7. Every time you fail at body acceptance, remember you haven't failed because you know body acceptance is an actual option! (working to accept it, rather than change it.)
8. NOTHING.

I love you.

Jj

New, Yeah?

2019 is three (now four) days in. I am writing this onboard a Jetstar flight from the Gold Coast to Melbourne, where I have not been for more than two weeks. I have sunburnt skin, fading ant bites and an overdue phone bill. I also have no desire to be in the city or back to reality at all.

I was going to do a post about being burnt out, because the year’s hectic spiral certainly caught up on me and I was having daily breakdowns come the last two weeks of December.

There are lessons and steps I am needing to put in place to avoid this happening again, and support I need to enlist….I am grateful for the people who got me through this time!

But the feeling is muted for now because I finally got to pull away from city life and have an incredibly enriching time at Woodford Folk Festival then at my friend’s place in the mountains in NSW, near the Gold Coast.

Some personal poetic revelations were made that will hopefully ooze out into my musings over the next few weeks.

Or they will just stay in my heart like a Polly Pocket.

Whilst the burn out feeling seems somewhat distant, I can feel the pressure that is the oncoming creative tasks and regular hustle that is being an independent artist, yoga teacher and later a student coming back with every day of the new year that passes.

Some people hate this time of year, because there is this kind of pressure to kick new goals, look back, brag on social media and maintain a tidy rig whilst drinking and eating too much.

I didn’t put many expectations on it, yet also feel the sense of needing to start things off “right.”

Rig and resolutions included.

(Rig is a super euphemism for body, so if someone has a “tidy rig” it means they are fit etc, as opposed to a “sloppy rig” or “loose rig.”)

My last year’s NY intention was to slow down. I managed till about June. The second half of the year wasn’t so much fast, but full, so it meant that there wasn’t time for such things as cups of tea and mornings sans alarm, or days off for that matter.

2019 so far, I have two, which I won’t share with you unless you ask me. (Ha! How is that for forced engagement/ seeing if anyone actually cares!)

Then there is kind of an on the side goal/mission as I started it before I left Melbourne.

I want to see as many sunsets as I can this year.

I wrote about sunsets in Thailand on my last post, and the fact that they do happen every day has got me wanting to practice what I preach.

The ones in Whanganui, my hometown, I almost missed had my brother not reminded me. They had us running across the road with not enough jackets, to lie under an orange sky that was reflected on the historic river. I loved being able to step outside with a full belly and hear the cicadas.

Sunsets at Woodford were framed by the trees. The Aussie bush more lush in this part of Queensland than the dull tones of gum in Victoria. They happened much earlier than expected, which was a delight because it meant more time under a starry night sky. (I saw three sunrises there too, that’s another post…)

So here is my brief ode to the new year. It's not anything fancy, I'm just getting it out there. 

Out with the old,

in with the New, Yeah?

JJ