Thoughts on life

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

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Thoughts on life, Thoughts on work

Don’t let me die now, ok?

I’m driving through a green traffic light and thinking…

I’m only forty and I could get hit by a red light runner right now and die…

…and my life would end while I’m feeling like I haven’t really lived yet

what a shame

It occurred to me that for the past 9 years the happiest I’ve ever been in my career is when I’m leaving jobs I hate…
It doesn’t bare any significance for me that I have actually been very good at all these jobs.

I’ve earnt great money, held the impressive job titles, worked for companies others desired to be a part of and yet…

…I’ve been miserable.

Empty, disconnected and dragging my tired, yearning soul through meaningless days

It’s hard to express in words the heaviness that fills your limbs, the lack of clarity or interest in tasks you once used to like…

it’s as though your very essence is blocked, nothing feels right and it seems you are playing a role without believing the script…

And here I am again

2 days from a final goodbye that will bring familiar feelings of regret and relief, sadness and satisfaction, chaos and closure.

I both love it and fear it

I know this game so well yet I feel compelled to change course…it’s as though some quiet voice of reason is telling me to be brave.

“…you are destined for more, you’ve only scratched the surface my dear…you are different to them and better than all this and you just don’t belong here…”

One minute I’m playing a game of poker and holding the biggest pile of chips…the next I’m doing a jigsaw puzzle with a million pieces and no picture to guide my hand.

My eyes are wide open but I don’t know what to focus on

I’ve brainstormed, quiz-completed, friend-talked, book-read, passion-hunted and mind-mapped every single possibility to the point of exhaustion..

I sense the void of unemployment nudging itself over the horizon and into my peripheral

I feel the thrill of new beginnings and new possibilities…but I carry the burden of decisions I am not yet able to make and questions I can’t answer

“So what now?”

(Shrug) I don’t know

“What do you want to do?”

(Sigh) I honestly don’t know

“Yeah but, what do you want to BE when you grow up?”

I actually have no fucking idea

So please don’t let me die yet

Ok?

crap I say, life

How dare you call me beautiful!

“…I’m so beautiful!”
“Look, Mummy….I can do it!”
“I did it, all by myself!”
“Oops! Try again….”

Ever notice how little kids talk? The way they so naturally and effortlessly praise themselves…positively affirming their own efforts, appearance and even their failures?

The sheer joy they possess, finding out their own capabilities…learning new things and finding out “who” they are. Pride and self-validation go hand in hand. As they stumble along the path of their tiny little lives, mistakes are simply brushed off, so confident are they in knowing that they can give it another go…and not feel a failure just because they have (technically) failed.

When they look in the mirror, they see perfection. When someone says “what a pretty dress!” Or “aren’t you a good swimmer?” they don’t miss a beat. They don’t have to think, or self analyse, or convince themselves it would be a good idea to agree. They just say “I know…”

I’m so jealous.

I can hardly remember a time when that kind of self love and self-acceptance was the voice I lived with. I am a confident person, I feel good about myself most of the time and I don’t think I’m that unattractive…and yet….there is still that voice….

You’re agreeing, aren’t you?

Yes. It’s an adult curse…we reach a certain age (6, 7, maybe 8, I don’t know) and we just become the most destructive, sadistic bastards you could ever imagine.

“I can do it!” becomes “I can’t/shouldn’t/don’t know how…”

“I did it!” gets felt momentarily, but quickly unravelled by thoughts of “it wasn’t that hard anyway” or “I could have done it better”

“I’m beautiful” turns into “I wish I looked like Miranda Kerr…”

This is crazy!! We actually hate ourselves…

So much so that whenever we are given a genuine compliment, we do our damnedest to convince them that they are wrong!

“Oh, this old thing?? It’s soooo old/only cost $5/makes me look fat”
“Trust me….you wouldn’t say that if you saw me before I’ve had my morning coffee…”
“It’s probably the lighting”

Why do we hate ourselves so much?
Why do we sabotage our own efforts, with critisim, self-doubt and “worse case” predictions?
Why can’t we lovingly talk to ourselves without fear it will make us appear conceited.

Why shouldn’t we feel beautiful…
Why shouldn’t we expect to do well?
And why shouldn’t we feel jump out of our skins happy-proud when we do…

The worst thing is we fill our lives with so many questions…and stop using exclamation marks.

it’s simply not good enough

So….guess what?

“I’M BEAUTIFUL!!!!!
And so are you 😊

… please feel free to agree…

I want so desperately to say

“I know”

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