Halfway happy

42 is pretty bloody awesome.

Young enough to still be healthy and excited by life…old enough to make the most of it

Reaching an age where you no longer have a need for, or wish to engage in, drama and conflict is liberating

Maybe it’s realising that you are quite possibly already half way through your life (and that’s if you’re lucky)

Maybe it’s because you’ve worked so hard to make peace with yourself and your own inner conflicts…

Or maybe it’s just because you get more selective at the battles you’re willing to join, after fighting so hard to become the person you are, at 42

All I know is that I spent the first half of my life learning to walk, talk and think for myself…questioning my own sense of truth until, ultimately…I could fully believe in myself as well

I spent it making (and learning from) mistakes, staying too long in jobs that caused me pain, worrying too much what people thought and turning myself inside out to fight other people’s fights, as well as my own

Inner struggles around feeling safe and “not good enough” before finally realising that I always was

When you’ve fought for so long against perfectionism and self doubt…you run out of desire or energy to fight other people.

Those precious 42 years have wisened me, toughened me but, most of all…they’ve calmed me…

It brought marriage and children, career changes and winning the battle between self sabotage and success (which is much harder than it sounds!)

It forced me to rip up deeply imbedded strands of childhood stresses and teenage anxiety to untangle those knots and make sense of my roots…

…and planted me firmly where I am, truly happy in all facets of my life, today

I see the bigger picture and how pointless it really is…

To fight

To defend ego

To blame

To judge

To fight to win at all costs

I no longer tolerate unnecessary conflict

I find it hard to be moved to anger by petty dramas

I’m sure some people would think it’s avoidance…or confuse calmness with lack of caring…

But I choose to just live and let live…and simply be happy

Cause I’ll be damned if I’m going to spend the last half of my life doing anything else!

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Somebody’s son

Driving home from my dance lesson tonight I saw flashing lights at the intersection I was approaching and felt annoyed at the assumption of road works.

The closer I got the more clearer the situation became…lights became tow trucks, warning others to slow down to avoid the two twisted car wreckage’s sitting in the road.

Duty and curiosity combined as I slowed to survey what had happened…I approached the white car that was sitting conspicuously and incongruently right in the middle of the intersection

White car

Pop up head lights

P plates

(Just like my sons car…)

Time seemed to slow as I wound down my window

Searching for a number plate that had seemingly been smashed off the car I caught a brief glimpse in the dark – as I passed through the intersection – of what looked like a shark shaped scratch on the bumper…

Distinct

Recognisable

One of a kind

(Just like the one on my sons car)

My sons car

OH MY GOD

Heart racing, thoughts gone cold, panic and realisation arrived together in my throat as I looked past the wreckage and saw a young, dark haired boy sitting in pain and shock surrounded by kind hearted witnesses to the crash and in that moment I saw my son

my car threw itself into a U-turn and took me back

I wasn’t aware of anything else but my son as I got out of my car

(My son)

My son?

Oh god please no, not my son!

The next 15 seconds were silently filled…

…by the sight of a number plate I didn’t recognise…

A black soft top roof..

A different car?

(Not my sons car)

NOT MY SON

A man standing on the verge, possibly drawn from his nearby house by the commotion asked me if I was okay?

“I thought it was my sons car…” was all I could say

Relief

Relief

Relief

* * *

“But it is somebody’s son”

The pea that perplexed me

I’m a perfectionist

Most days I hover somewhere halfway between “order really pleases me” and full blown Rain Man and on those especially neurotic days even I can’t quite believe my inability to cope with change and disorder

It’s normal to notice spelling mistakes in books and professional publications, right?

Common to order your wardrobe by type of clothing first and length of sleeve/hem etc next…no?

Keep lists of the lists you need to create?

Plan everything down to such detail that you could probably organise your own funeral today, if hit by a bus yesterday??

Down right sensible to insist on eating in the same restaurant every single time an opportunity to eat our arises? (Yes??)

I noticed this oddly placed picture of a pea…in an awesome new restaurant I agreed to try, only because it was 2 hours away from my usual preference due to a work trip…which was not aligned properly to the cow

(The pea that is, not the trip)

It bothered me significantly due to its complete lack of respect for the layout of the wall

Total disregard for the pattern created by the 15 other picture frames that knew exactly where to hang in order to create an aesthetically pleasing abstraction of art…

Which made me realise something

There’s a safety that comes from knowing what is coming next, keeping tabs on where something is and that comfortable feeling you get when things line up, follow the rules and just bloody well “fit”

Feelings don’t do this

Feelings are fleeting and fickle, follow no format and can’t be framed.

They surprise you and surpass you and sometimes they leave you shaken, unsure and exposed.

This inner world is contained yet uncontainable

And I both love it and fear it.

Avoid it and crave it!

This wild untameable freedom of spontaneity and reckless abandon

The rebel with no applause

She who rides the

unpredictable

wave of feeling and emotion, free from the constraints

of

construct and co-operation, compliance and conformity

Free to hang wherever she damn well pleases, for her own enjoyment, not the satisfaction of others or simply just to follow the “plan”

Very much like the pea picture that really should have known better and just lined up and fit in

I think I actually like that little pea

The persistent apology

“I’m sorry” is my constant

I’m sorry I’m not good enough, don’t achieve enough, do it fast enough…

I’m sorry I haven’t fixed all your problems along with my own

I’m sorry I’m flawed

I’m sorry I’m so bothered by being flawed…that I feel the need to apologise

I’m just sorry

…my self sometimes gives an apology just for being me…

I work with endeavour and purpose, integrity and grit, but still sense the “not enough” at the end of the day.

So I do more

Take on more

Apologise more…

Then I get sick and take a rest, but the banging guilt somehow feels worse than the thump in my head

Fear of disappointing (I’m sorry)

Fear of letting someone down (I’m sorry)

Fear of appearing weak or imperfect (I’m seriously fucking sorry!)

(I’m sorry I swore)

Decisions made for my own good come with a ransom I issue, from those who don’t understand…pay up one million apologies to keep the peace…or just keep your needs to yourself, ok?

Hurtful words burn and cling…guilt arises and binds…(“I’m….sorry”)

Others withhold care and accountability and, though they are the ones who are guilty…

It is I who hurts

I who cry

I who doubts

I who awaits an apology…

But the “I’m sorry” only ever comes from me

The sadness of a two slice toaster

Has an electrical appliance ever made you cry…?

Or even just a tad sentimental??

Ok, just me then…

I’m relaxing in the bath with a wine, as you do on a Wednesday night, flicking absent-mindedly through a discount store catalogue (“buy NOW!” why wait when you can finance??!” when I see it…

Page 7

Right hand side

Two little boys playing, and laughing, next to a bunk bed (“King single loft also available!”)

Oh my….it seems like yesterday my two grown sons were that “niddle” (My youngest never could that word properly lol)

We couldn’t afford fancy beds back then and the boys slept in clean but second hand, hand me down or cheap as chips from China “Pipeline” beds – and my heart stretched slightly north at the memory…

What we did have though was laughter and games, niddle men made out of honky nuts (you’ll need to Google that if you’re from anywhere but Australia!) silly shenanigans involving sweat pants pulled up over shoulders (try it…and then do a jig. Honestly it’s the best!!) and sleep filled eye deep and meaningful’s about Spider-Man and today’s plans over breakfast.

Trust me…even “Home brand” bread (lovingly cooked in the cheapest 4 slice toaster you could buy) tastes awesome when it’s being jammed into tiny, tooth filled mouths that are adorably laughing at their own fart jokes!

That poor toaster got used and abused! Often refilled 2 or three times to satisfy the four of us…

The best part was watching clumsy hands layer Vegemite, butter and jam so thickly and meticulously (eyebrows furrowed, little tongues stuck firmly out!) and then crying when their uncoordinated efforts to jump down off the toddler step while clutching their masterpiece, promptly launched the toast onto the ground. “Naughty toast!!”

Did I realise the beauty and magic I was witnessing at the time? Probably not…

…my eldest son moved out 2 weeks ago and my youngest son is barely home these days…

I’m proud of them and happy to see them living their own lives but you do forget that slowly and surely it is also your own life that will have to change a bit too…

It’s so gradual you don’t see it coming

It’s takes years and tears and milestones and growing pains and morning hellos becoming weekly goodbyes

It evades you and makes you believe you’re fine…

…until that one Wednesday night, when you’re aimlessly browsing through a catalogue and find yourself wondering if you should buy that shiny, expensive and brand new 2 slice toaster…

And your heart breaks

And you cry

Surrender

Breathe in…

let it go…

Breathe in…

…and let go…

The fight is tiring

The battle hard

It is silent

…secret

and scarred

Let it go…

But what then?

Control is my fiend

And my friend…

Breathe in

Let it go…

Trust and surrender

who I know

Exposed and in view

I breathe in…

and see you

The heaviness of being…

You know those days when you just aren’t feeling “yourself”?

Such a strange thing to say when you think about it…how can you not feel yourself”?

How can you not be your self?

…who else can you be?

It’s a feeling of not quite being “right”, of not being connected to your sense of what feels normal for you…

Your vision of your “self” that knows how to behave and go through the motions of life, how to put on a brave face for the waiting world…this idea of self is totally unavailable and you wonder where you’ve gone?

It is at best annoying and at worst scary as hell…as you are suddenly at once both the witness and the weirdo

The haze around your own personal outlook on the world seems so visible you are convinced it will walk in to the room and announce you’re apparent craziness on your behalf

Connecting with others feels near impossible, as you fear they’ll sense your absence…or worse, try to cross over and join you

Energy low, the weight around your will to move is a heaviness that seems to come from your very soul

Such a strange feeling…have you ever felt it?

It almost feels like the universe has quietly taken a hold of your body and momentarily suspended it from being capable of movement, motivation or momentum.

It’s not boredom

It’s not tiredness

It’s not laziness

But it is as though you just need to stop

Regroup

Refocus

Allow your thoughts to go inward for a while

I’ve learnt that it’s not weird

Or crazy

Or scary…

And it is still absolutely you being, and feeling, your one and only “self”

Just another piece of yourself…that part who knows it’s actually okay to stop once in a while

That the world beyond the haze will just have to wait

…and the connections you feel so compelled to maintain on the outside, will just have to be patient for a while…as you reconnect with the world that’s so obviously needing you more on the inside…

And that’s where you will truly find yourself