Blogs, Fashion and a Favour… “Enough” by Nicole Bennett
My sister, Nicole Bennett, was the first person to introduce me to “Fair trade”. She travelled to Burma, India and other countries getting the bad end of the globalisation stick, long before I did, and became passionate about making a difference. She inspired me to want to make a difference too. I’m (hopefully) doing it through my research and writing. Nicole’s doing it through her (soon to be certified) fair trade eco-friendly fashion label “Enough”.
“Enough” is all about knowing when to say “enough is enough” – enough injustice, enough poverty, enough destruction of our environment, (slightly paradoxically, she knows) enough stuff!
These are a couple of photos from her look book shoot last year:
There are more photos of me modeling her stuff of far better resolution on Margaret Zhang’s blog:
http://www.shinebythree.com/2011/01/not-enough-of-nicole-bennett/
…
And now the favour I have to ask:
Nicole is close to winning a free website in a competition. If you could spare 30 seconds of your time to click this link and then click “like” next to her label – “Enough” – then she has a very good chance of winning:
http://www.facebook.com/letsmakeawebsite?sk=app_215628168512018
The competition ends in 3 days and 22 hours from now so PLEASE help her!!! Thank you so much!
…
PS Nicole has been blogging her journey here (although she’s let it lapse a bit…):
http://iwanttobeafashionguru.blogspot.com.au/
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Weaving my world back together: a weekend at Camp Coorong
Have you ever weaved a basket? I hadn’t… “Life’s too busy for arts and crafts…” or so I used to think. I was wrong. Weaving was more than relaxing and therapeutic, it embodied a metaphorical connection I was in dire need of.
I learned so so much during my weekend at Camp Coorong. I travelled there to discuss a book chapter that I co-authored with some of the Ngarrandjeri youth, transcribing their documentary Nukkan Kungun Yunnan – Narrindjeri’s Being Heard.
When my alarm went at 4:40am on Saturday morning I wondered why I agreed to the trip – didn’t I have enough on my plate? I made it on my 6:15am flight and arrived in Adelaide a couple of hours later.
Sitting for a coffee as I waited for my friend to pick me up, took a long deep breath. There was a stillness surrounding me. I had nothing to do. Intentionally leaving my books at home I realised why I was there, in Adelaide, visiting The Coorong. It wasn’t for the chapter.
It was for one reason: to listen.
I thought back over the week that had passed. I had been the most stressed I’d ever remember feeling in my entire life. While the run and writing from last Sunday’s blog entry helped me get the balls back in the air… on Monday they all came crashing down.
“How was your weekend?” ‘Wahhhhhhhh!”… and later … “Can we meet next Monday?” “Wahhhhhhh!” I burst into tears. Twice. For no reason at all. Now that is what I call STRESS.
No amount of yoga or running could cure it. But at Camp Coorong I felt a deeper change occur.
My friend picked me up, and we drove through Adelaide Hills, over the Murray River, and into Camp Coorong.
An air of serenity surrounded us.
A quiet peace. Time slowed down. And Ellen Trevorrow taught me to weave.
I weaved my life, my mind and my soul, into the creation you can see in the photo above.
And as I weaved, I listened and learned, as together a group of us “had a yarn”!!!
In the culture of Indigenous Australians one doesn’t ask questions. One doesn’t take turns answering. One doesn’t talk about things they don’t want to talk about. No. Instead, people tell stories.
Maybe it’s the weaving. As we weaved, the energy changed. The air lightened and gravity tightened.
I had never felt so grounded. And I had never felt so free.
In this conversation one shared information, stories, they wanted to share. And the rest of the time you listened.
On Saturday I heard some of the most fantastic love stories, and tales of the saddest tragedies. Each story was captured in my weave. Later that night I taught some of the other visitors what I’d learned. Children and adults, all weaving together. There was something magic about this activity, and about this place.
I could go on and on about the many things I learned and experienced. It was all so subtle. It’s difficult to explain. Even more difficult to explain is the incredible feeling of groundedness I still feel today. I have a feeling these things will influence me in ways I can’t yet imagine.
Instead of trying to imagine them now, I’m going to share my favourite story from the weekend and leave it with you to ponder. Surrounded by pre-school children listening intensely, Tom Trevorrow told this story.
This is the story of the Thukeri and the Bony Bream:
‘A long time ago two Ngarrindjeri men went fishing in a bay near Lake Alexandrina to catch the thukeri mami (bream fish). They set off in their bark canoe to catch the big fat thukeri. They fished and fished until their canoe was over full and they said,
“We have plenty of thukeri we will paddle to shore before we sink.”
As they paddled to shore they saw a stranger coming towards them so they covered up the thukeri with their woven mats they said this man might want some of our thukeri, when they approached the shore the stranger said to them,
“Hey brothers I’m hungry have you got any fish to share?”
But the two Ngarrindjeri men said,
“No we haven’t got many fish we only have enough to feed our families.”
So the stranger began to walk away then he turned and said,
“You have plenty of fish and because you are greedy and don’t want to share you will not enjoy the thukeri fish ever again.”
As the stranger walked away the two Ngarrindjeri men laughed at him.
When the two Ngarrindjeri men unloaded the thukeri on to the banks to scale and clean them, they saw that their nice big fat thukeri were bony and they didn’t know what had happened. The two Ngarrindjeri men went home to the campsite in shame and told the Elders what had happened.
The Elders were angry and said, “The stranger was Ngurunderi our Spirit Ancestor and because you two were greedy and would not share with him he has put a curse on our thukeri mami. Now all the Ngarrindjeri people will be punished.”
Respect, caring and sharing, don’t be greedy, and don’t tell lies. Otherwise everybody will get punished.’
This was just one of the many many amazing stories I heard and experienced at the Camp. If anyone has a chance to go visit and learn from the Ngarrandjeri people, I highly recommend the experience. There are many different ways to live and be in this world, and the more of them we can expose ourselves to, the more likely the way we choose to live our lives is actually a choice.
Visit the: Camp Coorong Website
Watch the short version of the doco: Nukkan [See]. Kungun [Listen]. Yunnah [Speak].
Find the story of the Thukeri and the Bony Bream and other information here: hurrysavethemurray.com/wp…/ngarrindjeri-sea-country-plan.pdf
The sunset on The Coorong on Saturday:
Let us listen, and learn…
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Juggling too many balls
Do you ever feel overwhelmed by life? Does your mind and body ever get to that stage where it feels so limp it hurts? Are you juggling so many balls that they all come tumbling down?
Yesterday was one of those days. Actually until I left for a run about an hour ago, that was me. I’ve been stressed. My habit of saying “yes” to almost everything, without thinking through the logistics, came back to bite me.
I leave for Europe in less than four weeks. The last month has been a manic effort aimed at upgrading from a MPhil to a PhD and getting a scholarship, ie writing 35,000 words, confirming at least two journal or book publications, and a pile of paperwork with the right signatures in the right places, and every “i” dotted. And this was to be done on top of editing two books and marking political economy assignments (paid work), editing my own book (in hope of getting it to publishers before I leave), and the system/communications/database work I do for my Dad – a whole other mind-field of its own.
Amazingly enough everything is coming together.
A lot of late nights and early mornings, too much coffee, and ignoring most other things in life from friends to licence expiry dates and visa applications, I am almost there. Of course the neglect in other areas isn’t good.
I think it was Friday that I hit that wall. I know the wall well. I have hit my head on it many times after these almost adrenalin-fuelled mental marathons. I was exhausted but I pushed through it. I needed to get the visa application in, write a letter to try to get out of the $430 fine I got for letting my Learner scooter licence expire (yes that did make me cry), and try to get a little order in my life. Of course after a few drinks to try to forget it all that night meant Saturday I felt even worse.
“What about that essay you have due in two weeks? And the application to present a paper in Krakow? And getting out of your rent? And selling your scooter? And and and ….” The internal chatter of my mind wouldn’t shut up, but physically I was useless. I caught up with family for dinner and got the “wow you look tired” commentary and the same from my friend in Canada over skype this morning.
You know what has made suddenly made the whole world seem much better?
Giving myself simply a couple of hours of love: a long run, a hot shower with a cold blast at the end, a face mask, a little yoga, and entering the catharsis of writing it all down and sharing my thoughts with you. Hopefully I will start juggling again soon.
So thank you 
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The Very Short Life and Times of Me and Kombi Xee
Love is blind. It makes you do crazy things. Spontaneous things. Fun things. And sometimes really stupid things. I think when it hits you you know the pain that lies ahead, yet you jump in anyway. The first time I laid eyes on her I knew. Maybe it was her bright orange skin, maybe it was the way she popped her top on cue, or maybe it was her cute button nose. It was love at first sight. Like the trajectory of most love stories I figured this relationship would come to an end. But what I didn’t know was how fast it would happen.
This is a story of false hope and empty promises. This is a story about living with intensity and adventure. This is a story of loving fully and learning to let go if one’s life’s optimal trajectory calls for it. This is the story of the very short life and times of me and Kombi Xee.
I had been looking for a kombi for a couple of months, but none were like her. Mirroring my taste in men the kombi’s I was interested in lived too far away or were already taken, until I met Xee. She was perfect. She needed a little work on the body, but nothing that couldn’t be fixed. Most importantly, so the seller assured me, she was mechanically healthy with an recently reconditioned motor, no oil leaks, good brakes and new tyres. She would easily pass rego in March. The pressure of competition bid me to jump in. “I’ll take her.” I said, offering the asked price.
Like the beginning of most relationships, the honeymoon period was wonderful. As I learned how she worked, exactly where to let the clutch out and work her gears, things only got better. I projected images of our glorious future together: long coastal drives, sleeping anywhere, early morning swims, weekend getaways, lots of time to read and write and reflect and keep inspired.
Our first trip to Jervis Bay was everything I dreamed. She made driving fun. I sailed by day, and slept by the waters-edge at night.
Ahimsa Sailing Klub Inc
It was only two nights, but it could have been weeks.
Xee slowed life down a notch. Time didn’t matter with her. I couldn’t go anywhere fast so I no longer tried. Chugging along we strived out way up hills, and sped at full speed back down the other side. The hippy inside me lit up as I embraced the things the 70s stood for like peace and freedom and all those ideals I think too much. Now I wasn’t thinking about them – I was feeling them. I was them.
Kangeroos in our backyard!
An afternoon at Murrays Beach
After one night back at home we left for our second trip: the Northern Beaches.
After a day’s work in Belrose I parked Xee in Mona Vale, up on the headland with a magic view of the golf course, beach, ocean, horizon and beyond. I went for a twilight swim, had a cold shower, read a bedtime story, and fell into a blissful sleep. At sunrise I repeated the above, and drove back to work. Work would now become a weekly holiday, or so I thought…
Men, women, kombis… who knows what causes them to crack. But when a relationship goes to hell, there’s no knowing what’s going to happen next. I’d been with Xee for less than a week when the romantic bliss came to an earth-shattering end.
In the space of one hour, my side mirror fell off doors, the drivers windows refused to close, at red lights on hills she stalled, spat, spluttered, and died. I powered her back up. Without a mirror I was scared to change lanes, I missed turn offs, and every slight hill she got worse.
People around us stopped and stared.
“Come-on baby, don’t give up on us yet!” I pleaded. But this wasn’t your ordinary domestic fit.
Xee delivered me home and took her last breath.
That night and the following two weeks were filled with doctor visits and hospital stays – from NRMA dudes telling me she was only running on two cylinders through to tow truck drivers and finally a kombi-specialist who delivered the final blast of bad news: it was fatal.
“Try to fix the cylinders and you’ll open a Pandora’s Box of problems.” Steve the mechanic shook his head. “She needs a new motor. I’m sorry to say but you bought a lemon.”
As if stealing my heart and my dreams wasn’t enough.
So here I am. In love with a kombi that just doesn’t want to love me in return.
“The timing just isn’t right for us,” she whispers to me, shedding a tear.
I could spend another $5k on her to get her back on the road, but that’s scraping the bottom of the barrel, using up money I need for trips to conferences and universities in Europe and the US later this year. Part of me wants to stay in Australia, but I know that’s not my path. And so, sad as it is to say, I know it’s time to part ways.
Some relationships last a long time, and some only a short time, but all relationships must eventually come to an end. The trick is to know when to say yes and give it your all, and when understand it’s best for both parties to let go.
Xee needs someone who can invest the time and money that will get her back to health. She needs to be in a relationship with someone who can give her the love she deserves.
without
Is there something that can be learned from this story, about loving without attachment?
Might this apply to love for a friend, boy/girlfriend, and even for material things like houses and kombis?
Is it possible to love without selfish motive? To love another in a way that puts whatever is best for the other before one’s own desire to be with them?
As I look back over our beautiful week together I know I will always remember the life and times I shared with Kombi Xee.
These moments of the past that will remain present, just a thought away, for the rest of my life.
The best human relationships are like that too. Relationships where moments of the past were lived so fully present that simply the thought of it brings the moments back to life. No matter how long or short a relationship, the best one’s live on forever: continuing to inspire, energise and make you smile.
The last month – the one week of highs and three weeks of lows that followed – are a reminder of life’s roller coaster. It might be exciting at times, scary at other times, and a little dull as you wait in line to do it again. But you can’t have one without the other. The lows are what makes the highs so great. The closeness of death makes life so exhilarating.
Kombi Xee has reminded me of the important things in my life: she reminded me to slow down, to allow time to reflect, to value experiences over money and things (even kombis), to be able to shrug my shoulders when frustrations occur, to have faith in the universe, and that if you follow it’s “signs” guiding you intuitively toward your “optimal trajectory”, the universe will take care of the rest.
Xee reminded me of the importance of letting go: letting go of fear, letting go of the things I tell myself I “need”, and to remember that you never know what new adventure lies beyond the horizon.
Me in Kombi Xee
Photos: most taken by my talented friend Melissa McCullough, and a couple from Sveinug Kiplesund (who’s a pretty good photographer too 
).
HAVE YOU FALLEN IN LOVE WITH XEE???
I am going to put Xee on ebay, so if you feel you’re up for the challenge of this exciting but exhausting lover, then check it out:
http://cgi.ebay.com.au/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&item=260742402596#ht_614wt_905
More details about her:
This is the original ad I responded to off Gumtree:
And this is the mechanic report I got last week:
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Loving What Is
How often do you think or say “I love that I’m sick” or “I love it that I got a parking fine.” Never. Well I don’t. But that was the message I took away my conversation with three inspiring minds I had dinner with on Wednesday tonight: Love What Is.
Now I know I’ve spoken about this before. I distinctly remember writing about the need to accept everything just as it is, when I thought I was going to die in the back of a crazy driver’s loud-honking car winding up the mountains in India. But as the busyness of life takes over, you can never have too many reminders of positive affirmations. And I think to love what is going a step further than acceptance. Loving what is, even the shitty stuff we face, really means embracing it. And when we embrace our pains, they disappear. But is that easier said than done?
As the antipasto was placed on the table, my friend made a suggestion:
“Name the one biggest thing you need to let go of.”
The first thing that came to my mind was Kombi Xee, and the overnight loss of around $5000 all because of her.
Attached to my kombi was an image of freedom, and attached to the $5000 was the trip to Europe I want to do on my way to America later this year. I shared the story with my new friends, and the fear I have associated with my stupid spontaneous decision – I thought my intuition was telling me to buy her. Still who the heck doesn’t get a mechanical check on a 36 year old car? (Note – I will get to the full kombi story share some other day).
The question bothering me in that moment was: Should I keep her in, or should I exchange her for peanuts?
“Now I suggest this to you… you have to let go of your attachment to stories. Freedom is found inside you, not in the kombi. You need to let it go. Let go of any fears. Accept you’ve lost the money, and do whatever feels right to you.”
It’s not easy to let go of things you love. And while I understand the need to let go of stories, and my kombi, I just don’t know if I’m ready to. I’m trying to listen to my intuition, to be open to the signs of the universe, but sometimes those signs are simply unclear.
“I love that my kombi broke down a few days after I bought it.” I’m saying it, but I don’t mean it. I really wish I got at least a few months of fun out of it, didn’t lose my money, and didn’t have to borrow my sister’s old car that I’ll have to get registered in less than a month.
“I love that this kombi experience taught me a lesson to be careful in the future.” I’m saying it but I don’t mean it. While I’ll definitely get a mechanical check next time I buy a second hand car, I’m sure this experience won’t stop my tendency to make spontaneous crazy decisions when I feel so inclined.
Let’s try again.
“I love that my kombi broke down a few days after I bought it.”
The only way I might mean it, is if at some point, some future point of hindsight, I see a purpose for it. Maybe I should put it at my grandmas house in storage for a year until I can have time and money to get it back on the road.
Let’s try again: let it go. Money is gone. Whatever happens doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter.
Kombi or no kombi, everything will work out.
If you let go of the stories that you are attached to, if you let go of fear, if you let go of expectations, and if you live every moment with acceptance and love for all that is, you will lead a happy life.
I still don’t know what I’m going to do with this kombi. Should I keep it or should I sell it? Can I sell it, or is Xee now a worthless piece of junk? I suppose if I ask the universe, the answer will soon become clear… Either way I have to try, to love this situation just as it is.
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Parkinson’s Law: Using Time to Your Advantage
“Work expands so as to fill the time available for its completion.” This is known as “Parkinson’s Law”[1]. I’ve been testing it out and so far it does seem true.
I’m working more jobs than I ever have before: 4.5 days a week between two jobs, plus a part-time research degree, and working with an editor on my novel. And now I a new deadline for my research: 35,000 words by June.
I’m six months into a MPhil that my supervisor is encouraging I upgrade to a PhD and get a scholarship so that I can work less money-jobs and achieve more with my writing. I’m all for this, but 35,000 words? By June?? Not that words are generally a problem (as any regular readers of this blog would attest to this) still when I consider doing this as well as working so many other jobs, I start to freak out.
“Am I overdoing it?” I asked my dad on the weekend. “Am I going to give myself a nervous breakdown?”
He laughed. “As long as you also put a little time to maintain your health – go for your walks and do your pilates – you’ll be fine.” He reminded me of all the people that work full-time and do uni full-time. “It’s possible to do it all, and you will look back and ask yourself: How did I do it? But you do. You just get it done.”
That was when I remembered Parkinson’s Law.
I think it’s true: whatever deadlines you set for a task, that’s how long the task will take.
If I set myself the task of 35,000 words by June, I will do it. I know I will.
One month in to this crazy schedule I’m surprised to say that it is going rather well. Even with buying a kombi, doing a weekend away, and having it break down, to add to the craziness that is currently my life. I think the trick is not to think – just DO.
My mind has started to approach the world differently. This situation is forcing me to live fully in each moment.
I’ve had moments where I think I’m going to send myself crazy – but they only come when I am thinking about everything I’m doing. If I look at my week as a whole, at where I am using my time, I feel overwhelmed.
But if I live in the present, always focused on doing rather than thinking about doing, I am happy and extraordinarily productive.
On that note, it’s time for a walk.
[1] Parkinson’s Law is an adage first articulated by Cyril Northcote Parkinson in his humorous essay published in The Economist in 1955. Wikipedia.
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Yhprum’s Law and a New Moon Wish
Yhprum’s Law is the opposite of Murphy’s Law. As opposed to the idea that “everything that can go wrong, will go wrong,” Yhprum’s Law states that “everything, that can work, will work.” (Yhprum is Murphy backwards).
Tonight is a new moon, the best time to light a candle and make a wish. My wish tonight is to take all the Murphy in my life and replace it with Yhprum.
Not that things have been that bad. Not everything that could go wrong, has. Or at least the way in which everything that could go wrong went wrong, could have gone more wrong than they did.
I could have broken down going up the Wollongong hills, but instead Kombi Xee conked out just when I made it to my street. My iMac problems could involve losing files but instead the blue screen freeze takes 5-10 minutes to disappear. When I walked into a pole sticking out of a truck (a blonde sending a text) I could have ended up doing more damage than the blue bump on my forehead.
Things could be worse.
But I am up against little annoying things that require my time to get fixed, and that’s too much Murphy’s Law at work in my life for my liking.
I like it when things work. I like it when my everything runs smooth. I like it when I approach a traffic light and it immediately turns green.
Life is at its greatest when everything that can work, does.
This is a shift I want to see happening, not only in my life, but in the world around me.
I want to see quality goods and quality services. I want to experience and be around people with a higher level of awareness – of self and world – and a stronger sense of interconnectedness and synchronicity that makes everything run as if on its optimal trajectory, actions and actors living as if produced and directed by a divine director.
So if you read this tonight I think let’s all light a candle and make a new moon wish: may Yhprum’s Law play a greater role in our lives.
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Murphy’s Law Day and a Couple of Lifesavers
Have you ever had “one of those days”, where everything that can go wrong, does? There’s a name for it. Murphy’s Law. Today was one of those days… but thanks to a couple of lifesavers, a Jacuzzi and a taxi driver, it ended on a high note. Let me tell you the story of five lows, six highs and how everything turned out ok.
HIGH #1
It started out a typical Saturday morning: sleep in till 830am, espresso and Brazil nuts, walk, breaky, yoga. I was ready to scoot to Bondi for a quick dip and read a book in the sun when suddenly the wind changed..
LOW #1
I had arranged to check out a Kombi at midday, my latest little dream. The seller was having a Murphy’s Law day like mine would turn out to be. For the first hour I sipped a poorly made coffee with a British dude who also wanted the kombi. We agreed it was a good price, sounded like it was in good mechanical condition, and underneath the niceties we both knew only one of us would get it. The seller messaged again: “Just another 20 minutes…”
HIGH #2
I decided to scrap my swim, scooted home, and got ready for the evening ahead, leaving Jo to look at the kombi first. A dangerous move I know. I then scooted back to finally check out the bright orange 1974 kombi. I took Xee for a drive, and fell in love. I’ve never driven a big car, especially one with a long pole for a clutch and ridiculously huge steering wheel. Geez it was fun! Jo had made an offer, inside my head the pressure was on. Not one for thinking first, I acted: “consider her sold,” I told him. I called my sister to tell her the good news that my Festiva would now be hers, and agreed to meet her and my mum at circular key for a celebratory drink.
LOW #2
Just one problem: my scoot keys were nowhere to be seen. I emptied my pockets, my bag, and the kombi’s interior. “It has to be here!” I exclaimed helplessly. A vision of an expensive locksmith coming out was making me desperate (No, I don’t have a spare). I called my sister and cancelled, then I said a little prayer.
HIGH #3
In desperation I checked the street, under leaves on the road and footpath. What do you know, there it was: my key, on the street, where I’d first met Xee. I hugged the kombi seller. By now it was 4pm, the time I was supposed to be at a friend’s birthday drinks on the other side of Sydney.
LOW #3
My mum called with sensible words about checking the price of the kombi, having my uncle check the mechanics, all that blah blah blah (that I do appreciate and know is important, but can’t be bothered to do..) Anyway when she called for a second time I had just arrived home, and after two coffees and not enough food my hands were so jittery that as I answered the phone, I dropped it in the sink. It wasn’t full, thank goodness, but a saucepan full of water fell on top of it.
Now if I had one of those sturdy old Nokias, all would be fine. But these temperamental iPhones are not so forgiving.
“Cough cough, splutter splutter.” It said. “I do not recognize whatever you are doing to me”. Or some weird error message along those lines appeared.
“Please come back to me!” I cried, followed by another little prayer.
I opened it up (as much as an iphone can be opened, i.e. took off it’s cover) and tried to revive it with a hairdryer. At first the speakers refused to breathe.
HIGH #4
In time, with a lot of love, my recovered back to it’s good ol’ self. I called mum to apologise for being short.
LOW #4
I made it to my friend’s b’day drinks in Manly, only one and a half hour late. First problem was finding a park. Then there was a sound. A strange sound. “Is that my car?” I thought, turning my music of. Then, at a traffic light, “You have a flat”, a dude across the road pointed. SHIT.
HIGH #5
“A beer will fix everything,” I said to myself. I found a park, downed a couple of icy cold ones, and contemplated my tyre. Basically a new tyre too, two days after my car had been serviced. How depressing.
I sweet-talked a couple of the boys at the party, and went to double-park the car somewhere closer. On second thought not to tear boys away from their beer, I decided to go to the petrol station.
“I’m going to figure out how to do it myself,” I said optimistically, asking the guy behind the counter for a little direction. He showed me how the jack worked, and with a set of pliers I started to lift the car.
Enter my lifesavers: two elderly men walking by.
“Do you need a hand?” they asked, “do you have a jack handle?”
My face must have said it all. Before I’d said a word they had some long handle thing joined to the jack, my car was lifted, hubcap off, bolts undone, spare tyre on. Done and dusted.
“You guys are lifesavers!” I exclaimed a few minutes later.
“Actually we are,” they laughed, pointing to the Manly Surf Lifesaver logo on their shirts.
LOW #5
Hoping in my car, the next heart pounding moment was the breath tester.
“Have you had anything to drink?” The copper asked.
“Yes.” I gulped. I was pretty sure I wasn’t over the limit, but you can never be too sure.
“Count to ten,” he ordered.
HIGH #6
“One, two, three, four…” BEEP. “Your ok, good to go.”
I thanked God for the sixth time that day.
“A bad day makes for a good night,” a friend said at the pub. And it did. Back in the city my friend picked me and, dressed in a Brazilian flag, we went to a United Nations themed party.
So you wanna know what the funniest part to this whole long winded story is? Well, in my opinion it’s actually not the fact that I ended up swimming in an indoor pool and sitting in a hot bubbling Jacuzzi at 1am, but the taxi driver who at 2am delivered me safely to my door.
He (the taxi driver) was Pakistani, had done more degrees than me – from computer science to commerce and another couple I can’t remember – and was telling me about his dreams to go back and do engineering. “The problem is jobs.” He said.
After my last entry about the gap between education and real-life, that point really hit home. I can criticize the education system all I like but it’s not going to change the nature of the jobs that are available, which is ultimately the priority of education: survival.
In tribal society education must teach children to hunt and build huts. In our society education must teach us to survive within the system: to fit into a boxed up job that gives us money to buy our pre-killed meat and pay for our pre-made houses.
If we are lucky enough to find a job we can survive from and enjoy, then kudos to us. And if there’s a way of surviving, enjoying, and helping improve our survival system so it’s less destructive to our mental states, to the 4 billion people condemned to poverty from it, and to the planetary ecosystem that future generations need to survive on, then even better.
Murphy’s Law may say that “anything that can go wrong, will go wrong”, but Juliet’s Law (as this day’s high notes and low notes exemplified) says that “whatever can go wrong can be fixed”. Now all the world needs is a couple of lifesavers.
Photo:
Xee, the kombi I’m about to buy!!! (XEE is her number plate, if I remember correctly).
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Brisbane’s Narrative Wreckage: Cataclysmic Interruptions and Redemptive Solutions
Content in living out your life: work, money, weekends, holidays, home, kids… and then something happens: a cataclysmic event changes everything.
Be it a sudden illness or a natural disaster like the flooding Brisbane is now facing, everything you know – everything you care about, everything you have dedicated your life to, everything you imagined for your future – can disappear in an instant.
As I write, Brisbane faces 12 people dead, 43 missing, 20,000 homes, and 3000 businesses under water. No words can convey my sorrow and empathy for all those whose lives have been upturned.
The events reminded me of an analogy I came across in my narratology studies. The analogy of a “Narrative Wreckage”.
Events like are described as an “ontological assault” that throws even the most ‘basic, underlying existential assumptions that people hold about themselves’ into disarray. [1]
I imagine many people living in Brisbane are presently feeling such pain, among the many physical ones.
Occurrences like this cause worlds to be “unmade” – one’s identity and thoughts about the future are thrown into sudden disarray.
One’s basic sense of time is destroyed. Storytelling takes a massive turn. One’s life-narrative must be reconstructed.
At points like this that the Buddhist philosophies of non-attachment show their value: the less attached you are to the things lost, the easier the loss is to deal with.
Even if attached to the things lost (which most of us are), the incoherence in your life narrative can still be repaired.
The repair, depending on the damage, will likely see the creation of a new narrative: one of renewal and redemption, one of hard work and incredible reward. I don’t know if in these situations it helps to consider “the hard road to the good life.”
In an article in the Journal of Happiness Studies, a collaborative group of narratologists write about ‘narrative variations on the good (American) life’ that describe:
‘a gifted (chosen) hero whose manifest destiny is to journey forth into a dangerous world in order to make it better (to redeem it), and who, sustained by deep (intrinsic) convictions, confronts many setbacks along the way, but learns from each of them, and continues to grow.’
The stories ‘celebrate personal growth and redemption stories’ while also affirming ‘the sense that one is special and destined for greatness, that the world is dangerous and in need of the protagonist’s reforming efforts, that the righteous protagonist should never conform but always trust his or her inner convictions, and that good things will come out of suffering, no matter what.’ [2]
This narrative is so familiar – in our literature, movies, religions and even in our daily stories – yet that doesn’t take away from it’s deep psychological value, nor the difficulty of the experience as it is being experienced. Hindsight is great.
Each of us may be an Average Joe yet through narrative we turn into heroic protagonists, setting out on our own quests and adventures, most likely with something narratlogists call a “generative” aim – leaving some kind of personal legacy, creating positive value for future generations, demonstrating the meaning of one’s life (be it lives created eg via making babies, or through lives touched eg through relationships). [3]
No doubt cataclysmic events like this change lives. It changes the future. You may even look back one day and be thankful for the path the cataclysm led you to.
As an observer of the cataclysmic trajectory humanity’s narrative seems to be heading, I hope it isn’t insensitive to think about what the Brisbane floods can teach us all?
Human induced global warming or not, our radical global population growth and unsustainable lifestyles indicate our collective narrative is near wreckage.
People may argue that our population will slow as people come out of poverty and women are educated, but where is the sign that either of these things will happen in the near future? The economic pyramid depends on the large base and a huge gap simply in order for the middle and top to move up and live better. The lifestyles of the rich rob the poor of their choices, and rob future generations of their resources. I am, in every aspect of my lifestyle, a cog in this system. While this system poses threat to the narratives of many individually, and collectively, the institutions and society we are born into is not easy to escape, and even harder to challenge.
At difficult times like the Brisbane floods we see the media, the government, the nation, and much of the world, unite in effort to help those in need. Our common humanity triumphs over the economic, cultural, religious, and ideological differences that so often tear as apart.
As we join together to restore the order, to help those in need get back on their feet, I am reminded that humans care. When we see others suffering, we know that it could be us in their place, so we treat those people how we hope they would treat us. Our more superficial aspirations may distract us at times but at the end of the day I think we each feel connected to everyone and everything that surrounds us and that we are a part of.
This gives me hope.
I hope we can find ways to repair the cataclysms that face us in this moment, and to avoid the cataclysms that (on our current trajectory) appear to lie ahead.
References:
[1] Crossley, Michelle, (2002) Introducing Narrative Psychology, Narrative, Memory and Life Transitions. pp. 11-12.
Michelle refers to Narrative Wreckage analogy from Frank, A (1995), The wounded storyteller: Body, illness and ethics, University of Chicago Press, Chicago.
[2] Bauer, J. J., D. P. McAdams, et al. (2008). Narrative Identity and Eudaimonic Well-being. Journal of Happiness Studies, 9, p. 98.
[3] Baddeley, J. and J. A. Singer (2007). Charting the Life Story’s Path: Narrative Identity Across the Life Span. in Handbook of narrative inquiry : mapping a methodology. ed. D. J. Clandinin. Thousand Oaks, Calif., Sage Publications: xix, 693 p. 191.
Photo:
I snapped this in Budapest 2006
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Feel the fear, and do it anyway
The first time I sat on my scoot I trembled with fear. I drove it around the block, parked it, and waited half an hour for the adrenilin to calm and my heart rate to slow.
The second time I did some drills with a friend. My thumb hurt too much the next day to even look at it.
Third time lucky, well sort of. I tried to ride to Bondi, but too scared to change lanes ended up in Double Bay.
The fourth time, still feeling the fear, I rode first to the petrol station (even filling up some strange hole under the seat felt scary) and I continued on, through multiple lane changes, all the way to university.
The fifth time the fear faded. My senses hightened to face the life-threating forces from in front, both sides, behind and below.
I rode, and I enjoyed.
There is real thrill in facing a fear, so when I read “feel the fear, and do it anyway”, a Susan Jeffers quote in a Community Mediation manual I was editing at work, I just had to blog about it.
You know, every day we find ourselves surround by things we fear – physical fears, psycholgical fears, relationship fears, financial fears, fear of failure, fear of what other’s think, fear of uncertainty, fear fear fear.
Often we let fear guide our decisions. It is easy to let fear rule over our lives.
I almost didn’t get a scooter simply because of my fear of getting hurt. My fear of ripping apart my skin, breaking my neck, or dying, the latter which would be my preference of the three…
So I held off for months.
Every scooter that passed me tormented me.
I wanted to be on a bike, and that was that.
So I asked myself, “If I was to walk onto the road and get hit by a bus tomorrow, would I regret not having a scooter today?” YES.
“How about if you get your scooter and have an accident and become a paraplegic, won’t you regret that even more?” Well… maybe.
So which might I regret more?
A fear of getting hurt still remains. I will probably feel it every time I hop on the bike. But the fun that I am having on the bike, makes it worth it.
Life is short – I want to live it to the full. I would rather live a shorter life, living each and every day to it’s max, then live a long life dominated by fear.
The thing to remember is that what we fear most are usually the things we least need to worry about.
“The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind; the kind that blindside you at 4pm on some idle Tuesday.”
Baz Luhrmann Everybody’s Free (To Wear Sunscreen).
You never know what tomorrow holds – stockmarkets and currencies and even civilizations eventually fall. I could die driving in my car or walking on the street or even laying in my sleep. If we live in fear, we are not truly living.
All of us will one day be old, and will one day die.
“Do one thing everyday that scares you.”
Life’s too short to let fear play a dominant role in it: feel that fear, and do it anyway, and (unlike me in this pic) don’t look back.
Picture:
Since I’m still at work filling in time waiting to go to dinner friends I grabbed this pic from my facebook. Sometimes it’s annoying that this is a photo blog. Anyway it’s from an old editorial for the German magazine Shape that I shot in Sydney a few years ago. Don’t worry, I won’t be scooting around town in heels
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Variety … the spice of life
“Variety’s the very spice of life, That gives it all its flavour,” said the William Cowper, an English poet of the 18th century.
Food tastes okay without spices, but can anyone deny the enhancement of flavours when little salt and spice is added to the palate?
When it comes to life, I see nothing wrong with a life that plots along – working, watching television, catching up with friends, etc. etc… but like spice to food, variety gives life a whole new flavour.
This year I have experimented with some new spices – a new home, a new job, a new degree, a new sport … but in the process I seem to have let some of my old favourites expire.
Last week I pulled some out of my pantry, and made the most incredible dish (so to say): I taught my first Pilates class and did my first photoshoot for 2010. Somehow in my bookish ways I had forgotten the joy I get from these things.
While it’s great to embrace the new, and to get focussed on something in particular, life seems to get better the more varied the activities it involves.
Of course there are limits. Like a tummy after over-spiced foods, we don’t want to overdo it.
In the pursuit of balance this week has reminded me that in the process of discovering new spices, try not forget the old. Looking ahead to 2010 I see no reason not to mix the two together… and I wonder what creative flavours they may concoct?
I will keep this post short and sweet, and leave you with a little question: how tasty is your life?
Photo:
Taken by Tenda in Tokyo (sorry Tenda, I forget your last name) back in 2006.
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Have you met TED? Introducing “Narratology”
Which Ted? Ted from How I Met Your Mother, or Ted-Talks? While both are wonderful sources of inspiration, today I will using the former to introduce “Narratology”.
Narratology is the study of narratives, the stories lived and the stories told. The stories in one’s head, and the stories that become one’s reality. The story of you, the story of your people, your culture, your religion, the story of humanity, the story of the universe… stories surround us.
Roland Bathes, sums up narrative better than I ever could:
The narratives of the world are numberless. … Able to be carried by articulated language, spoken or written, fixed or moving images, gestures, and the ordered mixture of all these substances; narrative is present in myth, legend, fable, tale, novella, epic, history, tragedy, drama, comedy, mime, painting, stained glass windows, cinema, comics, news times, conversation … [and] narrative is present in every age, in every place, in every society… Caring nothing for the division between good and bad literature, narrative is international, transhistorical, transcultural. It is simply there, like life itself. [1]
Narrative is, in the words of another great narratologist Theodore R. Sarbin, our “root metaphor.” [2]
How I Met Your Mother has some of the cleverest scripting ever. Besides the fact that it has me laughing, and that it has even had me in tears (when Ted got hit by the car), my favourite thing about this show is the way they play with narrative.
In case you haven’t seen it, every episode is told from told from the viewpoint of a father in 2030 telling his children “how he met their mother”, recollecting his friends’ stories from and seemingly never getting to the part where he actually meets their mother. Episodes don’t always follow exactly on from one another and stories are played out as they would be told – with parts forgotten, exaggerated and imagined. Stories within stories within stories are told from individual people’s different perspectives, capturing many truths about our culture, social nuances, fantasies and life issues.
This is one of my favourite examples… “Blah Blah” and the hot-crazy scale!
Ok, so if you are a keen follower of this blog, you will notice that (once again) I am jumping eclectically from one topic to another. The other day I introduced my plans for studying philosophy, and now I’m talking narratology. Where is my structure? My staged methodolic organised research? It might make no sense to anyone else but it is there, somewhere in my unconscious and subconscious mind, I just haven’t identified it yet.
My approach to research is more intuitively led – and I like it this way, it keeps things fun. I’m also interested the application of the concepts I’m studying – rather than just the theory. The different theories I’m reading about seem to overlap and shine lights on each other.
What does narratology mean for philosophy and religion and big history? What does Social Construction Theory have to do with Faucault’s Discipline and Punish, with power, structure and agency? What does this have to do with our ecological trajectories? What does this mean for me, and the life I am living? These are the sort of questions going through my head.
It might seem mind-boggling, with complicated topics layered upon one another, but I get bored easily, and this keeps me entertained. I would much prefer move organically through the literature, reading whatever topic makes me excited in a moment, rather than over-indulging in one of them and moving sloggishly onto the next. How this pans out in pulling together a large body of academic work… I suppose I’ll just have to wait and see.
As I learn about these very interesting mind-twisting concepts, I will share them. If you get lost in my brain, in the hopping from one topic to another, then I appologise – it probably means I’m just as lost as you!
Long story short – if you haven’t met Ted then you should meet him soon!
References:
[1] Barthes 1966 essay Introduction to the Structural Analysis of Narratives, quoted in Michael J Toolan, Narrative: A Critical Linguistic Introduction (London: Routledge, 1988). p. 6.
[2] Theodore R. Sarbin, ‘The Narrative as a Root Metaphor for Psychology’, in Sarbin ed., Narrative Psychology : The Storied Nature of Human Conduct (New York: Praeger, 1986b).
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Farewell Superstitions
I like experimenting, trying things I’ve never tried, testing one thing against the other – whether it be conducting little social experiments, buying the strange looking packet of dry fish from the Asian section of the supermarket, or giving the superstitious options on society’s menu a really good shot. But in my mind, three strikes and you are out, and I’ve now done three pretty long experiments with fortune tellers and “make a wish” superstitions. In each of these experiments I gave the superstition the benefit of the doubt and gave it a full go, yet not even the placebo effect brought an ounce of truth from these experiments.
One was an old fortune teller on the streets of Amsterdam, “Baba”, who in 2006 sat me on a park bench and he told me I was having dilemmas about two men and gave me dates for marriage and children. At the time I thought I was having dilemmas only about one guy, but my imagination stretched it to include another guy I was traveling with. I can’t remember all the details but I’m pretty sure those dates included marriage at 28, and kids at 29, and… (thankfully) NOTHING! Even if I only recently turned 28 I think I’m safe to say Baba was wrong.
The second was an “intuitive life guidance” chick in Sydney who among many career and life projections about marriage to a human rights lawyer when I’m 33, and kids at 34, said I’d have a summer romance in Bondi that would start in September with someone just a couple of years older than me. It’s now November and… nope – NOTHING! Well, nothing of the nature she described.
The third strike happened yesterday. I have been wearing one of the “Fita do Senhor do Bonfim” ribbons (in photo above) since a friend wrapped it around my wrist in Brazil in February 2009. “Three ties and three wishes – when the ribbon comes of you wishes come true…”
The ribbon after almost two years:
For almost two years the ribbon on my wrist got thinner and thinner, uglier and uglier. I covered it up for photoshoots and weddings, playing out this superstition (of course for the fun of it more than anything else). Granted I made some pretty big wishes (that I still think will come true) but the ribbon fell of yesterday, and… NOTHING!
That’s three strikes.
So while I still have my own slightly superstitious beliefs about how personal intuition can sometimes be connected to some universally connected source of intuition (through “the power of intention” or “law of attraction” or “prayer”), I will definitely think twice before bothering with another experiment that something kinda annoying like a ribbon, or paying someone else for their “intuitive” time…
Goodbye superstition, hello personal agency.
While there are some societal structural limits on what I’ll do with my life, these little experiments have reminded me that most human-created superstitions are bull****.
No one can know your future better then you do.
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How my day got better.
After facing rejection and depression that followed some emails and the lecture on Palestine and Israel, I went to the library and found myself inside my own little metaphoric story:
I was looking for a book but I couldn’t find it. The number system can be confusing in Fisher library (which is MASSIVE) but I thought I had it mastered. I checked the shelves where books that had just been returned go, then I checked the front desk, then I rechecked the computer, then I decided to go up the six flights of stairs for one final look.
I still couldn’t find it.
Then, just before giving up, I had a look one more time at the stacking shelves. I realised that the books on these shelves were not in order – searching through title by title I finally found the book I was looking for. It had taken almost an hour, and had sent me around and around in like circles, but eventually I succeeded.
If you fail then try and try again I advised myself, applying it to my previous nihilism, even if you feel you are going around in circles, you will soon realise it’s a spiral, and you are closer to your objective.
Leaving the library I met a friend to try a new yoga studio. Meeting my friend my mind was still a bad place, complaining about all that had happened. Then, in a room heated to around 30 degrees but doing a lighter yoga than bikram, I found my peace. It was intermittent – moments in the relaxation and meditation time and when the entire room of around 50 people were humming ‘Om’ coordinated only by our different breathing lengths. Here I felt my mind and body unified as one. Even if it only lasted a few minutes, this sense of peace reminded me of two things: peace might not last forever, but it is possible, and peace starts within.
This feeling of peace inside me may not last forever, but some remanence of this feeling is still with me now, some two and a half hours later. And I’m sure I’ll continue to reap the benefits of the feeling of balance as I go to sleep and maybe even tomorrow. Yoga helped me deal with my day. Hopefully the destructive part of my mind will allow this constructive practice to spiral me upward – inspiring me to go to more yoga classes and furthering this feeling of united mind and body. It really feels great!
If this scenario plays out I might look forward to reaping the corresponding mental and bodily health benefits and the compounding life benefits that come with that. Fingers crossed this is my new story – but you never know what tomorrow will bring.
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Taking the long way home
2am Saturday morning
Isn’t it funny how when things change, it’s usually overnight. One day I have a social life – like every day and every night filled with some kind of pre-organised plan. And the next – NOTHING. Not one little thing. Oh yeah, a sailing outing for my Dad’s birthday, but that doesn’t count. Family may be the most important thing in the world but they do not constitute a “social life.”
So here I am, getting what I wish for, again. This time it’s time. Time I had been missing due to social life, that I wanted to be spending in front of my books and computer. Then, I get time, and what happens? I’m bored. They do say to be careful what you wish for… that grass is always greener.
What do you do when most of your friends are hitched or pregnant and you don’t even have so much as a little crush? While the logical answer is “turn back to your books”, the more fun answer tonight was (borrowing a lyric from The Beautiful Girls) take the long way home…
“You want a lift to Central?”
“Porque no!” I answered, why not – my awesome new shoes had given me a blister so cutting my walk home into two wasn’t a bad idea.
Jefferson, a fellow CPACS student, was going to a weekly event called Politics in the Pub at the Gaelic Club – something I’d always meant to check out but never quite made it. After 10-hours at uni (half work half study) a beer and opinionated people sounded far more exciting then going home to more books.
So I joined a room full of people, most over 60, to watch a doco on Tibet and listen to a young Tibetan tell his story (an issue I’ll talk more about another day). Two beers later I found myself txting my Saturday morning running partner – about not going running. “What u up to 2nite?”
“Heading to Bavarian Bar on York Street to meet for beers with work mates. You’re welcome to join.”
When the political upheavals had settled down I replied… “Porque no!!!”
And before long I found myself walking down George Street, following Google Maps to York when (I kind of feel like I’m reading a child’s storybook when I say this) on the way….
I realised (again) that walking down George Street I was a minority among mainly Japanese (confirmed when I overheard “Oskalasamadesu!”) and Chinese and Korean and Indian and a few other nationalities mixed in there.
“I’m a tourist in my own city,” I thought, recognising the (albeit slight) similarity to the evening’s Tibetan speaker who spoke of needing an interpreter to travel in a taxi in his own country. His native Tibetan language was no good anymore – not even in Tibet 
Don’t get distracted Juliet – one story at a time.
So I thought I’d play a game and pretend I was a tourist in Sydney.
I stopped to take pictures with my iPhone – “that might be useful for something,” I thought. Two beers on an empty stomach will do that.
By the time I reached York St I felt like I’d travelled back to Japan
-have you ever tried Pepper Lunch?
And Europe (a lot of Germans out in Sydney last night)
And Argentina….
The Argentineans were my favourite. I even went to the convenie to get some change to add to their stash. What a story!
These two adventurers had been through (see map above) South America, Asia, Africa, Europe, and now Oz. Soon to go home? NO! They had just started. Next New Zealand then Japan then China and Russia and more of Africa and North America and the east coast of South America… Ahhhhhh!!!!! What a trip!
NOW THAT’S TAKING THE LONG WAY HOME!!!
Ok, back to last night…
Eventually I made it to the Bavarian Bier Cafe. Following a shared “taster” round of German beers, reminiscing Munich and Berlin, with my running friend and his buddies, it was time to move on. Home? Not yet.
“Grasshopper. Grasshopper. I’m sure I know that place…” I said, trying to figure out why. “You must have told me about it,” I accused my friend, who has a habit of telling a lot of stories about Sydney nightclubs. It wasn’t until I’d walked down the alleyway and my friend was knocked back entry (too many beers) that I realised why. “Oh my gosh!” I almost screamed (maybe I’d had too much too). “I took photos here!” Suddenly I realised why I knew Grasshopper – this was where the Inspire Ball was held – the “dress as something that inspires you” charity event. “Sydney’s first laneway ball” – where I was the volunteer event photographer (if you follow this blog – the devil/angel yin/yang costume). Sorry that’s totally useless information unless you happened to catch that entry of this blog. Anyway it was exciting for me, briefly, and then we moved on.
As time goes on and so do the night. In my retro black and fluoro pink sneakers, black mesh jacket, denim shorts and leggings (working at a university has it’s advantages) I tagged along the bar up the Hilton (sorry Sydney, I totally forget it’s name), and then to The Cross. Kit & Kaboodle (no idea how it’s spelled) and the somewhere else, and now home.
Home sweet home.
“The best thing about a night out is the shower at the end of it,” I remember a girl in a bathroom in some random club saying to me.
Given the choice I must say I do prefer a book or movie over and above a night among too many weird and wonderful people that go out to these places. Courtesy of my samba class dancing last night was A LOT OF FUN but I tend agree with the chick in the bathroom: the best thing about the night was the shower at the end of it.
One more comment, in case you are actually interested in someone else’s own strange habits… it’s now 2:30am and I’m finished my little rant on about whatever the heck I’ve filled almost three pages worth of words with. I am a little cold (sitting on the floor on my favourite cushion with a towel wrapped around me and my windows open) and VERY glad I have returned to my old habit of switching to water when I know I’ve had enough. Now I am ready for one final glass of water, a dash of moisturiser, and a good night’s sleep.
What will tomorrow bring? I have a feeling it probably won’t include that run.
Photo:
More about Julian, Lorena and Little “Trico”s long trip home at: http://porsiemprelamoto.terapad.com/
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Practicing what I preach
“It’s easier said than done.” I think we all have discovered this at some point or another. A couple of weeks ago I was struggling with a few big decisions and I punched the following rant into my phone on my way to work. In short, I consider the relationship between money, stories, optimal-trajectories, and the dynamics involved in putting these into practice. It’s not always easy to practice what you preach…
When you are happy, it’s easy to say that if you’re not happy you should change something. Figuring out what to change and actually changing it is another thing altogether.
When you have enough money to do the things you want to do, it’s easy to say you don’t care about money. It’s easy to say that you let creative passions & intuitions guide your life, and never money be a driver in your decisions.
When doors are opening as you approach, it’s easy to say it’s because you are “following the signs”, “listening to your intuition”, and “traveling along your optimal trajectory”.That’s easy when you feel like you’re in sync with the universe. During times where everything is falling into place without so much as a hiccup or a sneeze, it’s easy to preach about optimal trajectories. As long as the traffic lights are green, you can keep going. But what happens when you start to get caught at reds? Is this a sign that you’re going the wrong way?
Sometimes “the signs” are blurry. It can seem as though a sign is pointing in many directions, and there is no way to know which road you should take.
I have faced some roadblocks in this last couple of months.
First, I found out I not only missed out on the scholarship, but my grades were 1.5% too low, making me ineligible to even apply for it. Second, my iMac broke. Third, the editor I hired to give me feedback and correct the grammar on my book had been taking forever.
What was “the universe” trying to tell me?
“Maybe that door’s closing,” suggested my Dad. “Maybe it’s time for a career change.” Subtext: go and get a “real job” in the business world, enjoy the money and security it brings.
It did seem like my plans to do a PhD over the full-time for the next three years with a scholarship – was a door firmly closing on me. And how can I survive without income? A part-time PhD will take forever. If not a PhD, what was I supposed to do?
Like always, I gave the business option some thought… Is my dad right? I am 28 now… Does this mean it’s time for me to “settle down”, get married, get a proper job, a mortgage, and start having babies???
Suddenly I wanted to puke.
I hate that word: “settle”…
It implies compromise.
It implies giving up on dreams.
It implies letting fear lead you to live a life you don’t really want to live.
Life’s too short for that.
From these thoughts and feelings I concluded that the “settle down story” is not the optimal trajectory for me.
Is it a sign that I should pack up my apartment, downsize to a backpack, and travel the world some more? Maybe. But then what about the research I so much want to do? What’s more important for me to do at this stage of my life?
My research thus far into narratology led to some interesting self-reflections on these thoughts. I was clearly looking for a new story. I wanted a story that explained these mishaps and which would set me up on a new trajectory, preferably the one that is optimal for my life.
What was I doing even considering the settle down option? After all I write about on this blog: about not letting money guide my decisions; about how I’m happy to live without security or a fixed plan; and about how important it is to follow one’s dreams… and yet another part of me was saying, “it’s too hard, the door is closed, it’s not meant to be.” I guess yin and yang of life means that no matter how much you believe in freedom, the voice of fear will always creep up inside you.
Am I going to let fear guide my future? No-sir-ee I am not.
I observed as my mind processed the variables, and contemplated possible scenarios. I watched as my mind sought more signs, did more research and tried to connect with “that” feeling one gets inside – that feeling of intuitive satisfaction one feels when they imagine living out a particular future.
I observed as my mind selected one story:
I was “meant” to continue my research without a scholarship. I could start with the smaller research degree – a Master of Philosophy – and then, should I feel so inclined, I could use this degree to get a scholarship and do a PhD after that. Yes it means more work, but maybe is part of the journey I am supposed to take. Yes. I would continue. I love what I’m studying, so why should I let a money-related issue stop me from doing it?
After I had decided on this story I suddenly felt great.
I felt relaxed, and full of an energy I hadn’t remembered experiencing in a long while. The kind of energy that seems to appear when you are connected to the universe. It’s almost drug like – this energy that seems to enter you from no-where – similar to when you do lot of exercise, eat a lot of chocolate, or fall in love. It wouldn’t surprise me if when one feels they are on their optimal trajectory, the same happy buttons in our brains light up.
Observing this mental process, and the emotions and feelings that connected with different stories, got me wondering about self-determinism and predestination.
Is your optimal trajectory something that you choose, or something that chooses you?
This entry has gone long enough. So I’ll finish there and revisit this question tomorrow…
Photo credits
Photographer – Gilbert Rossi
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Inspire: To Be Inspired – Sydney laneway ball photos
Event photography at a fundraiser for The Inspire Foundation – a charity established in direct response to Australia’s then escalating rates of youth suicide. www.inspire.org.au Dress as “something or someone that inspires you”.
I was an angel AND a devil, with the philosophical justification that the existence of opposing forces keeps me challenged, engaged, and inspired.
More photos from the ‘To Be Inspired’ Laneway Ball are on facebook: Click Here
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The evolution of “Man’s Best Friend”
I stole my sister’s schipperke Bella for two days of doggie companionship – it’s pretty clear why they say that a dog is a man’s best friend. Not only are dogs adorable and fluffy, they (especially Bella) give you cuddles and snuggles when you ask, they run and have fun with you, they don’t hide what they are thinking and feeling, and best of all they love you unconditionally.
This morning we walked around Rushcutter’s Bay amongst many other doggies and dog owners, and I started wondering… How did dogs evolve to become our friends? When did it all begin??? What breeds are purebreds and what breeds did we create? Are dogs, with all their human-like qualities, a good example of evolution in action?
Jumping the gun on my Big History series, but with Bella by my side my curiosity won me over and I sought out some answers.
Briefly to provide some context, wolves, foxes, cats AND HUMANS had a common ancestor around 75-million years ago. Primates (including monkeys, apes and us) broke away from the our mammal brothers and sisters in the Carnivore group (ie meat eaters) – which from a common ancestor known as the Miacid broke into the Caniformia subgroup that includes the Canidae family (coyotes, dogs, foxes, jackals, and wolves) and families with other fancy names that include pandas, skunks, racoons, seals, sea lions, badgers, and bears; and the Feliformia subgroup that includes Felidea (cats, lions, tigers etc) as well as other families of hyenas and mongoose.[1]
Dogs are domesticated wolves that diverged from their wolf ancestors around 15000 years ago. ALL breeds of dogs are connected to humans – be they a result of “natural” breeding in response to their environment as it changed in the course of human civilisation, or through “selective” breeding with random hybrids like labradoodles a recent example.
Breeds classified as “purebred” are done so according to documented lineages – a tradition that began at the English Kennel Club in 1873. The breeds with the fewest genetic differences from wolves tend to be the natural bred ones, which are more considered “ancient dog breeds” – eg Afghan Hound (Afghanistan), Chow Chow (China), Lhasa Apso (Tibet), Pekingese (China), Shar Pei (China), Shih Tzu (Tibet), Tibetan Terrier (Tibet), Saluki (Fertile Crescent), Basenji (DR Congo), Akita Inu (Japan), Shiba Inu (Japan), Samoyed (Russia), Siberian Husky (Russia), and Alaskan Malamute (Alaska).
How did they come to be our friends? Actually there are different theories, but no one really knows. It could have happened as long as 100,000 years ago, with a cooperative relationship developing between our species: wolves hanging around campsites for safety, food scraps, and greater chances of breeding, while humans gaining improved sanitation from the dogs cleaning up the scraps, extra warmth and security alerts when other animals/people approached the site.
And from cooperative hunting in the forest, to cooperative hunting for mates in parks (everyone knows its easier to pick up when you have a cute dog with you wink wink) we have found our new best friend.
But how does a big mean ugly wolf turn into a adorable little puppy? I guess it’s not unlike masculine hunters turning into metro-sexuals – through less contact with the actual kill and physically adapting to whatever (they believe) will increase their chances of spreading their seed. The cuter the dog and the more socially savvy, the more scraps they get and the less need to hunt and kill.
The main physical differences between wolves and dogs evolved in the last 12,000 years since the introduction of agriculture, humans settled and (at least some civilisations) started to look after dogs as one of their own. This continued right through to more recent tailoring dogs for our companionship needs – Paris Hilton toy dogs are a prime example.
How can a dog stay small forever. With a process called “pedomorphosis” or “juvenification” – a process that causes adults of a species to retain traits previously seen only in juveniles – that is, somehow, adults still look like babies. This isn’t a man-made process, it’s a natural way of evolution for example the flatness of the human face compared with other primates.
I wonder, with today’s obsession with youth – from magazines to beauty creams – will we one day in the near future genetically modify ourselves to keep our juvenile qualities for life? Is this something we would want to do? I’d like to say no – that I want to age gracefully – but heck, to look 25 for the next 100 years wouldn’t be so bad…
I have sidetracked completely and really I have to get back to writing and preparing for India (less than 2 weeks and counting) so I will leave this interesting piece of research there. All in all I have to say that besides having to put up with their farts and pick up their pooh, I love dogs and I wish my rental contract didn’t forbid me or else I would buy my own little Bella for myself.
[1] http://animaldiversity.ummz.umich.edu/site/index.html
Another good article: http://www.time.com/time/magazine/article/0,9171,1921614-4,00.html
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Dirty Cat Returns…
Yesterday morning’s crazy events almost repeated themselves that night.
The girl who sang dirty cat, was back. In a hat. No not really in a hat. I just added that. Okay…. moving on. So she was back, and drunk again. No screaming or glass shattering this time – just a slurred whining voice.
At around 11pm when I put my garbage outside I noticed two cops walk into our building. Oooo ho hoooo…
I don’t know who called them. It wasn’t me. Actually I am guessing it was the boy himself, not up for another night of Dirty Cat. And I’m glad he did. Neither was I.
I just thought I’d share so you know the end to yesterday’s sorrow-filled tale. We can all can rest peacefully knowing that the girl who sang Dirty Cat isn’t lying in a ditch somewhere.
I must admit I’m happy that the Dirty Cat won’t be back. In a hat. Ahhh, don’t start that again!
Extra Little Funny Thing:
So when I googled “dirty cat” to find a picture to header this with, I came across this youtube video. It made me laugh so I thought I’d share.
It’s not as dirty as it looks – apparently the cat is just sniffing. Hmmm…. still pretty dirty.
Picture Credit:
No idea – it’s just a friend and I at a “Feline” theme house warming party. So I guess we are kind of dirty cats.
A Personal Note:
I’ll try to make my next post something a little more worthwhile than the last couple. I think it’s about time I do the Big History Series Blog Entry #2.
Although… they do say laughter is the best medicine, so maybe it’s good putting things like this in the mix?
Please let me know if you would like hear more or less of the funny little random stories like this…
And please become a “facebook fan” of this blog if you are not already – click here to go to the facebook page “Juliet Bennett’s Blog”
I really appreciate feedback – it keeps me motivated to keep on blogging and helps me blog on the topics that you most enjoy.
Thanks for reading!!!
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City living and neighbours screaming
I didn’t sleep last night. My sisters were visiting and I doubt they did either. I love city living, but sometimes it takes it’s toll.
“Dirty cat, dirty cat,” some chick sang at the top of her voice. CRASH! BANG!!! And a few minutes later it happened again. And again. And again. What was going on?
Half asleep I ignored it, but as it got louder and louder, and the voice sounded more frantic and the bangs got more violent, I ventured down the stairs to check it out through a set of squinty eyes. On my way I noticed what looked like McDonald’s buns thrown across the entrance. Weird.
As it turned out it wasn’t my neighbour who was screaming, it was a very frustrated British chick who was very very drunk, and very annoyed at the dude living a few stories below me.
“I don’t have my keys,” she said, scrambling through her bag. She was a mess. “My head is bleeding and he won’t let me in. I fell over. And then he grabbed me by my head and dragged me.”
“Ummm….” I was stunned. Do I invite her into my place? I really didn’t want to and my sisters were still trying to sleep. Should I call the cops? Her hair was wet, but it was also raining outside. It didn’t look like blood. And besides being drunk he girl looked fine. “Where are your keys?” I asked.
“Inside there,” she replied, pointing at my neighbour’s door. “Well I think they are. I left my makeup bag in there. I think. And it has my pay cheque in it. But the asshole won’t let me in to get it.”
“Ummm…” I really didn’t know what to say. “Are you sure it’s in there?”
“Yes.” Pause. “Actually no. But I need to look and see.”
“Do you know you have kept the whole building up for the last few hours?” I asked, I’m not sure what good I thought that would do. I knocked on the door. “Excuse me…” I said meekly. No answer. I shrugged at the girl. About to give up, the dude came out of his apartment. He looked normal and relaxed.
“Look you just gotta go home.” he told the girl. “I’m sorry, I’m really sorry.” he said to me, “she’s really very drunk.”
“Are her keys inside your place?” I asked, giving her the benefit of the doubt.
“No.” he said, turning to her, “If you had anything in there, I’d have given them to you already.” He shook his head. “Go home. You’re going to get me evicted.” Turning to me he appologised once again, and then vacated the premises. She called after him and I escaped back to my bed. Surely she would go home now. But no.
“Dirty cat, dirty cat,” the loud obnoxious singing started again.
All this commotion on a Tuesday night! My sisters will be turned off city living forever!!!
A while later there were a few more shouts and bangs, and then nothing.
What happened? I don’t know. Hopefully she’s not lying in a ditch somewhere. I guess she went home. I hope…
What’s even more discomforting about this situation is that I seemed to be the only one in the building to go see what the commotion was about. And it probably took a good hour or so of noise before I made a move.
How much screaming does it take for us to step out of our warm beds to see what is going on?
Living in apartment blocks we live so close to complete strangers and you have to wonder whether anyone would notice if someone was in serious trouble… that’s really not a nice thought.
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Happy Ishtar!
Easter is celebrated at Spring equinox, a time that for thousands of years was a celebration of the goddess Ishtar resurrecting the Babylonian/Sumerian god Tammuz/Dumuzid – the god of food and vegetation.
Ohhhh, it makes so much sense!
The burgeoning of spring: a time of fertility, when rabbits lay eggs, flowers come out, seeds sprout and our food grows. Easter is a wonderful celebration of the sun’s warmth returning to us, a celebration of new life, and best of all – CHOCOLATE EGGS!!!
Springtime means summer is on it’s way – the SUN has been resurrected!
I love the sun. I worship the sun. So do Brazilians – sitting on the beach clapping and cheering it as it retires for the day. Without the sun, there would be no life on earth, so it does deserve a little appreciation. And besides that, without the sun I would have to a solarium to get my tan. Heaven forbid!
DID I MENTION I LOVE THE SUN?
Now that’s a pretty important resurrection! But not a literal one. Just like Christmas, early Christians adopted and adapted this pagan tradition to be their own. NO WHERE in the bible does it talk about Easter. Just like NO WHERE in the bible does Jesus ask to be worshiped.
Interesting to mention is that the Bible, in Ezekiel 8:13-14, does refer to the Easter tradition. A woman weeping for Tammuz is seen as an “abomination”!
It’s funny how Easter has been adopted – in both dates and traditions (ie spring equinox and with exchange of Easter eggs) – by religious followers of the same holy book that describes the tradition as an abomination!
So rather than celebrating the resurrection of the sun, Easter is now a celebration of the resurrection of the Son, Jesus the Christ.
Tell me, what makes more sense:
a) that Jesus was sent by God to die on the cross and “save you from your sins” and then physically rise back to being human and 40-days later ascend into heaven;
or
b) that Jesus Christ heard the Buddhist philosophies of love and non-violence, and dedicated his life to a movement toward find peace on earth (the “kingdom of heaven”), and that after a few years of teaching Jesus was killed by the religious/political leaders of the day who saw the growing movement as a threat.
Is it possible that after the horrific death the early Christians felt Jesus energy come to them and tell them to continue with the peace movement? After my Opa died I felt his energy outside the hospital, I could see his energy around me, in the trees, in the air, everywhere – I suppose that is a form of resurrection.
Is it possible that the idea of Christ’s resurrection being physical, with a missing body, was added to the Christan gospels in order to synthesize Judaism with Paganism and gain momentum for this movement? Maybe even when it was added it was more mythical and mysterious than supposed to be something physical?
Scholars, both Christian and secular, agree that the part about the resurrection in the gospel of Mark was added a few hundred years after the writer of Mark finished documenting the story. Hmmm… I wonder where else has been added?
Enough enough enough – today is a celebration.
I do have one final question: now that we have re-established the real meaning of Easter, can someone please explain to me why here – in the Southern Hemisphere as the sun is retiring earlier and his intensity slowly dying – am I eating this chocolate Ishtar bunny??? I’m not complaining, I happen to love chocolate maybe even more than I love the sun. But still, shouldn’t it be spring?
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Tangled up in knots
Yesterday EVERYTHING seemed tangled up in knots. Even my washing. Ahhhhh! I screamed.
I had been trying to write journal articles and my mind seemed to mix up the concepts and ideas. I had been trying to edit my book but it seemed muddled up as well. I don’t even know what genre it fits. And let’s not mention my love life. All in all I felt as if my brain was tied in knots. And there it was, in my washing too. After five minutes of trying to untangle it I didn’t have the patience to continue.
But this morning things are clearer.
I don’t know how I managed it, but woke up at 10am. That’s almost eleven hours sleep! I can’t remember the last time I did that. I knew I was tired, but… wow.
Oh that’s it – my brain was in knots because I needed sleep. Well, it could be at least part of the problem.
I had been treating sleep as an overrated nuisance. Six hours would do the job. I guess eventually a lack of sleep will catch up.
Hopefully today I’ll do some untangling of my article and book, and I suppose of that darn washing.
In sum, the lesson of the day is that sleep is as necessary as food and water. From now on I’m going to try to catch a few more winks.
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True Blood
Ok, so you’ve seen True Blood right? If not you should…
From wikipedia (I’m too lazy to write today):
True Blood is based on The Southern Vampire Mysteries (informally known as The Sookie Stackhouse Novels / Chronicles and retronymed the True Blood Series) is a series of books written by The New York Times bestselling author Charlaine Harris.
Within the fictional universe vampires have “come out of the coffin” (a term coined as a play on “coming out of the closet”), when scientists in Japan invent a synthetic form of blood called “Tru Blood.” No longer relying on human blood to survive, vampires are able to integrate themselves into human society (or “mainstream”).
How cool is this opening sequence!!!
Also from wikipedia:
Conceptually, Digital Kitchen elected to construct the sequence around the idea of “the whore in the house of prayer”[15] by intermingling contradictory images of sex, violence and religion and displaying them from the point of view of “a supernatural, predatory creature observing human beings from the shadows …”[14]Digital Kitchen also wished to explore ideas of redemption and forgiveness, and thus arranged for the sequence to progress from morning to night and to culminate in a baptism.[15]
In editing the opening, Digital Kitchen wanted to express how “religious fanaticism” and “sexual energy” could corrupt humans and make them animalistic. Accordingly, several frames of some shots were cut to give movements a jittery feel, while other shots were simply played back very slowly. Individual frames were also splattered with drops of blood.[15] The sequence’s transitions were constructed differently, though; they were made with a Polaroid transfer technique. The last frame of one shot and the first frame of another were taken as a single Polaroid photo, which was then divided between emulsion and backing. The emulsion was then filmed being further separated by chemicals and those shots of this separation were placed back into the final edit.[14]
The best thing about it is the metaphors and parallels to things happening in our world today. More about that next time.
The first two series are out and the third is on it’s way. So… check it out!!!
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A big thumbs down.
So the other day I’m in a bar and I run into a student from a Pilates class I used to teach. We have a nice catchup and he asks for my number. Without much thought I give it to him – not cause I want to see him again unless it’s at a pilates class – I guess I was just being polite. Exactly one week later I get a mysterious call from a private number. No-one says anything so after a few ‘hello?’ … ‘hellooo???’ s I hang up. The next morning my phone rings and it’s a private number again.
‘Hello?’ I ask
‘Hello’ says a young sounding Japanese voice. ‘Who is this?’
‘Ah, who is this??’ I reply.
‘It’s Mika.’
‘I think you have the wrong number,’ Not knowing a Mika. ‘Who are you looking for?’
‘Ah, Isabelle?’
‘Sorry, you have the wrong number.’ I say. And I hang up.
A few hours later the private number appears for third time.
‘Hello…’ I answer.
‘Hello. I called before.’
‘Yes…’
‘I’m actually wondering what your relationship is with Chris?’ she says, in a gentle yet slightly accusingly tone of voice.
‘Ah, Chris who?’ I ask.
‘Chris Keats.’
‘Sorry, I don’t know a Chris Keats.’ I say honestly.
‘You didn’t meet him on Thursday night?’
Trying to remember what happened on Thursday I say, ‘Ah, no, I don’t think so. What was Thursday night?’
‘I have messages from you on his phone.’
‘Chris Michaels?’ I ask, that’s the only Chris I know. Then it dawns on me. Last Thursday night I was at the bar in Manly.
‘Oh I know, I think you are talking about the Chris I teach Pilates to.’
‘Teach Pilates to?’
‘Well, I used to. Then I went overseas. I ran into Chris in Wharf Bar last Thursday.’ Suddenly I remember our texts.
Realising what was going on – why this chick was calling me, I continue, ‘He asked if I wanted to have dinner with him but I said no.’ Then softly, I ask, ‘Are you his girlfriend?’
‘Yes.’
‘That’s shit! Guys are fucked.’ I really hit the fan. ‘I’m really sorry. Nothing happened on the night, we just talked. And I don’t want to see him or anything. But that’s really shit that he did that to you.’
‘It’s ok, I’m going to leave him anyway. I just wanted to know.’
‘Well I hope things work out for you.’ And with that I hang up.
Like the equator monument in Ecuador that was built a few hundred meters off the equator, men (and women) like this get a big thumbs down.
Note: this story came from my random writings from 2009 and names have been changed.