decide.

Making a big decision is hard. It pulls up emotions and feelings and thoughts long dormant. When making decisions, I like to pull wisdom from a Dear Sugar column:

I have that excerpt pinned to the corkboard next to my computer – select phrases highlighted for optimal impact. Before making a decision, I pull wisdom and advice and perspective from anywhere I can find it – whether that be advice columns, friends, family, introspection, or pretty pictures on Pinterest. It’s hard to make a decision…

But nobody really talks about the dark, quiet space after the decision is made. That time of pause; you haven’t made the jump, you’ve just decided in which direction you’ll leap. You could turn back! You won’t, but you could. That tiny sliver of space under the door of your plan – that doubt – can overwhelm.

I’m in that space. I’m in the dark, the quiet, the incredibly lonely. I could not feel more isolated, more confused, more overwhelmed by that tiny sliver of doubt. I’m in a place between excitement and crippling sadness… but not really embodied by either. I’m no longer on the edge of the cliff, nor am I safe on the other side… I’m flying through the air, screaming at the top of my lungs at some times and at others laughing with euphoria…

…just hoping to make it to the other side.

friendships and self-worth.

The neurons aren’t firing well today after a big boozy weekend, so forgive me my ramblings. It was the kind of weekend that would usually have me wrapped up for days in a blanket of anxiety, guilt and embarrassment. I remember only scraps of time for a few certain hours between dinner and bedtime – “but what did I SAY?!” (ladylike, I know) – but hell if I’m not feeling inexplicably light, free, and secure. 

It hit me while I was sitting on my couch late at night with eight of the best people I know, watching something stupid on TV – trackpants on, makeup off. We’d spent the previous 5 and a half hours at a boutique spirits festival, and an hour or so at dinner with about a million plates of dumplings and too many bottles of red wine. It hit me that these people are my close friends. God that sounds ridiculous; I’ve been friends with some of these humans for close to ten years now… and it’s only just hit me that they are in my life to stay (this says everything about me, and nothing about them – I assure you). They have seen me at my worst, and still come visit me in my new hometown. They put up with my ridiculous drunken ramblings – screechings – every time we have one too many glasses of wine (or whiskeys, as the case was this weekend), and yet still want to do it all again the next time we’re together.

Adult friendships are so strange. There’s none of the security that seeing school friends every day offers. Less and less of the obligatory “stuff in common” conversations and more of the good, deep, to-the-bones chatter. Interspersed with plenty of shit talking and movie quotes. 

It says so much about my self-worth and self-confidence that I’ve not let myself feel like these people could actually want to spend time with me. And it’s honestly slightly shocking for me to realise this. It hurts my heart to realise this. 

But I have. And that speaks volumes about where I am right now. 

Look, anyway. It made me pretty damn happy, and wanted to share. Thanks, friends. You’re awesome. 


Unrelated gratitude:

1. Turkish tea dates.
2. Porter Robinson on a school night.
3. Selfies.
4. Coffee and pie before a film festival.
5. My favourite barista and her coffee buns. 

grateful.

This was a moment of pure peace. I’d bounded out of bed 15 minutes earlier, been for a run, bathed, got dressed (and all the rest that goes along with getting ready for work), and still had time to sit and eat breakfast in the sunshine (as opposed to the usual eating-breakfast-in-the-bathroom-while-doing-my-hair routine). Breakfast was, in case you were wondering, homemade granola with banana and 5am organic yoghurt (my new favourite). Such a small change – getting up 15 minutes earlier – but so very worth it in the end. 

I’ve been so grateful for moments of quiet like these lately, and seeking them out – sitting in my favourite armchair while reading old (inspiring) magazines, instead of numbing myself with bad TV after work; taking 10 minutes away from my desk to drink coffee outside; really revelling in shavasana – and it has done wonders for my headspace.

Thank you.

quiet.

What I wouldn’t give for a few hours of “nothing”. Nothing but staring at the sea – pottering around my home – hours in the kitchen. Not multi-tasking. Not worrying. Not planning for the next damn thing.

I love my life. I love my partner, my friends, my family. I’m happy in my job and engaged with my degree. I’m feeling enriched with the volunteer program I’m involved in. I have travel plans, and I’m happy with my finances. I’m just so damned tired. I want a day to sit on my butt all day. Bake a pie, maybe. Read a book. Drink some wine and cook a huge feast. Without the guilt or the rush or the racing thoughts.

Look, if that’s the worst thing that I’ve got to say about today, I’m pretty damn lucky.

That’s all. Thought I’d pop in.
Hope you’re well.

candor.

Do you ever have moments of complete clarity? Where you feel absolutely present? These moments have become few and far between for me lately; though I had one last night – I sat, cross-legged, on our kitchen counter top, reading old Kinfolk magazines with a glass of wine in hand, The Lumineers on repeat, and sweet potatoes roasting in the oven. Rufus sat in the lounge room, playing a video game. I took a sip of my wine, buried my face in the magazine once more, and was suddenly struck – I looked up and just sat. I looked around myself, really, truly taking it in: the gallery lighting above me; the green vines outside our kitchen window shuddering as the winter night blew on; the depth of colour and texture in the hardwood floors I’ve always wanted; the saccharine smell of potatoes turning golden brown in the oven; Wesley Schultz’ sweet voice crooning to me; the comforting, raw feel of the pages in my hands… and I thought, “this is enough”.

I spend most of my life worrying. Planning. Hoping. Looking forward. This all-consuming personality trait (among other things) has lead me to a somewhat crippling anxiety disorder, for which I take medication. These beautiful moments of simply being are elusive with the fog of medication that has settled on my brain. I know I am here, I can feel beautiful emotions (and horrible ones, too), I just can’t hold on to them – I can’t feel their full weight; can’t grasp them with my fingertips that desperately search for more. 

Remembering to float in the quiet times is important. Reading instead of watching TV in the evenings is a great place to start, I’ve discovered. It helps me come back to myself – to feel grounded, calm, and sometimes even present.

Do you have any advice? From one friend to another?