There are people who do not use their words. They find it difficult to express matters of the heart and yet I prefer it that way. So often I have been disillusioned and disappointed by guys who have said the most beautiful things. Then there were those with nothing worthwhile to say; they really shouldn’t have said anything. Is it becoming clearer how I despise the limitation and deception of words? One of my favourite songs is Ronan Keating’s “You say it best when you say nothing at all”.

I have always preferred non-verbal communication to the bastardised and crude spoken word. So writing has been a really interesting experience for me because there is nothing more than damn words, but that’s the subject of another blog.

People do not have to tell me they love me. Yet such loving people surround me. Together we face our fears. They choose me to do brave things with for the first time. They wink at me across the table in restaurants. They smile encouragingly when I need the support. So I don’t care that the word “love” may never pass their lips because love shines from their eyes, is written all over their actions and sits in their hearts for all to see. Well, for all those who can look beyond the words and see what lies behind.

Life is like a puzzle but without the picture on the box to guide you. Slowly over time you put pieces together to see if they fit. You try different pieces, you turn them around, you look at the colours on their surface and their shape. If they don’t fit together you start the search again. Over time you start to see a picture emerging but often the full picture is not clear until you triumphantly slot the last piece into its place.

Part of my nature is to automatically see the big picture in every situation – it is what comes with choosing a visionary archetype. This quality is revered by today’s society as everyone looks up to the visionaries of each generation, yet there is just as much value in seeing the little things and loving and appreciating them. (continue reading…)

Some things throw me to the fire – they challenge me like never before. Then I stand still. I wait for the fire to die. I wait for the challenge to go away and for everything to become easy again. Why do I wait?

I have one of those situations at the moment. I’m in the midst of a fire that is burning hot. It is branding my skin and is raging through my life. I try to deny it. I make it go away … briefly … until I feel the burning again. That burning is the reminder that I have not acknowledged its warmth.

I love people for who they are and what they are capable of being. This can lead to disappointment when they choose not to reach that potential or to be who they truly are. Yet that is beautiful too in that it shows the value of choice and how we all have a side that is powerful, strong and yet…hidden.

I prefer to keep a part of me hidden too. (continue reading…)

Every year I make a big thing of my birthday. I use the opportunity to see all my friends and to throw them all together at a function that is all about me. And I love it! I always have.

Birthdays are also about change. Each birthday heralds the start of my own new year. Numerologists will tell you how the number of the year you are in, which influences your challenges and experiences, clicks over one notch on your birthday. I feel that notch click over and sometimes that feeling is a little uncomfortable. This year is no different. I feel like I am standing on the edge of a cliff and only have to throw myself off to realise my dreams. So I see my dreams and that makes me excited but there is also a cliff that I have to throw myself off of first. Shit.

So I have decided to take my birthday week off (yes, I always celebrate a birthday week). Well, pretty much. I think the experts would say I’m frozen in fear. Or they would tell me I’m procrastinating but, you see, I am always way to hard on myself so I’ve decided that this is a perfectly good thing to do when there is chaos: sit in the midst of the chaos and be still. Oh, and then throw a party. It has been a very emotional space so, to be honest, working would be difficult given the frequent breakdowns. Okay, I maybe exaggerate a little…but only a little.

I know I will jump. I just want to turn 35 first! Happy birthday to me.

I do not think of myself as excessively image conscious. I like to look good but in no way am I a label queen. I do not aspire to drive an over the top expensive car. I like cars that are different – that have a distinct design that does not appeal to all tastes because then it will not be a common sight on the road. This is why I chose a Renault Megane. It is now seven years old and still it is distinct in so many ways – the handbrake still draws comments from passengers!

But last week the Megane broke. The turbo went on a long trip and that’s where I started to learn something about myself. Did I fear for my safety while standing on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere? No. Was I angry that this went wrong at the start of my holiday? Not really. The issue was this: the car lost power to such an extent that I was struggling up a slight incline in second gear with smoke billowing out the exhaust over a queue of cars behind me. When I pulled over I was mortified that there was an audience witnessing the demise of my beautiful vehicle. I have always looked at people in similar situations with disdain, asking why they don’t bother to maintain their vehicle properly. I was hearing the driver of every passing car saying the same thing about me. Okay, I couldn’t hear them but I’m sure they were.

We were eventually picked up and the vehicle towed into a workshop. I breathed a sigh of relief having survived my shame on the side of the road.

When back from holiday it made sense for me to borrow my mom’s car while the Megane succumbed to the woes of a lack of spares that is so typically Renault. My mom kindly obliged and I’m saving on the cost of a hired car. But there’s a catch: my mom’s car is a 20-something year old Toyota. Hey, it goes well and gets me around…but it is 20-something years old. It has no fuel injection and remote locking. But it does have power steering and auto transmission. Oh, and the brakes need to be applied well in advance of needing to stop anywhere. But hey, it’s free transport while I wait to get my baby back.

However, I have developed an issue. I would never have thought that this would happen to me but I don’t want anyone I know to see me in this car. Do I judge others in older cars? Or is it the bumper sticker reading “702 Stuck on you” that is the deal breaker? I can’t put my finger on it. I think my thoughts are ridiculous. I have rationalised things by looking at the other cars on the road and seeing that there are other old vehicles out there. Ah, but none have an aerial that is buckled so that it phallically tends gently upwards like mine.

So I have this shame that will not go away. I have told myself that it is out of character and ridiculous. I have tried to rationalise it away. I have told myself to be grateful that I have free wheels for the unknown period that my car will be in the shop.

Then I go to gym. I arrive unnoticed and breathe a sigh of relief. After gym I climb in the car and turn the ignition and it fails to start. I try again but no. Stubbornly, in public, the car added to my feelings as people started to turn to see who was having car trouble. On the fourth try it started but, for me, my reputation was lying like a pool of oil in that parking bay as I sped off.

On the way home I laughed at me. I laughed that it has become such an issue. I laughed that I manifested the gym parking lot incident. Every time I think of how the car makes me feel I smile. It doesn’t make the feeling go away but it does make me feel better about it. Hey, I’m driving a classic!