I wanted to ask …

… why homelessness didn’t make him afraid – didn’t scare him.

A tram ride shared.

He told me that he never wanted a house – that he lasted one month the first time he had one, one month the second …. the television zombie-fied, he exercised but it was boring … electricity-gaoled.

He chose the life that saw his home on his back.

I was taught one self defence sequence tailored for my height and build and another tailored for his.

I was introduced to a new perfume; the mechanics of the packaging were explained.

I was told that homelessness didn’t cost anything and that, if you knew where to look, everything except underwear was free.



Light grey beanie. Yoga mat rolled and secured to the side of his world.

Clear eyes. Bright energy.

I wanted to know what courage it took to choose a different path; whether he was scared the first night; whether he’s scared of tomorrow night …

… how he made the decision to live the way that suited him.


His hotel tonight is a six-star … the Southern Cross.



I trust.

This is my goal for the day …



I struggle with not struggling. In my head somewhere there is a notion that, for things to be valuable, they must be difficult; that life will be directed by me, rather than by the the random happenstance that comes from the mere fact of living.

I tell myself that I don’t trust; and I haven’t in the past – things can be controlled, life can be moulded …

But what if I could lean back into trusting?

… that the ideas will come.

… that the day will not be so bad.

… that this path is leading me to where I need to be.

#ThisIsNotTSkeleton (see post) – but it is maintaining my promise to write every single day and stay #SoftEmotionalConnected

I am the artist of my own life.

I’ve just come back from holidays and I woke up today with that same feeling in my bones that I had when I was five and walking with my parent into my primary school complex. I don’t admit to remembering whether it was the first time or not, but it was definitely within the first six months, when my school mornings still included a trip to see the swans and swing a little at the local playground at the caravan park to ease me into the day …

As then, the feeling now is deeper than muscle, but not quite to the bone – – it crawls and sticks out its bottom lip like a petulant child – – – – – – – I don’t want to / I’m scared. 

Then: I don’t want to go into the classroom – I’m scared that I won’t like it.

Now:  I don’t want to start my everyday life again – I’m scared that it will be like this forever.

… and so, I have to do something about this … not just the feeling – but the fact that I’m not so joyous over life at the moment.

I have always had a sneaking suspicion that ‘joy’ and I were not ever going to be natural friends. As a child I felt ‘heavier’ than my peers – more serious – more conscious. As an adult, I’ve added to these elements ‘anxiety’ and ‘defence mechanisms that protect hope’ ; these involve not being overtly enthusiastic – not getting super excited. As a lawyer, I am also trained well in thinking about the potential consequences.

Add all of these elements up and mix them a little and you have an individual who is very well researched on health insurance premiums, but doesn’t exude light and energy and colour …

I feel heavy. And after the holiday, I’ve realised that this weight is not joy-inducing … and it is not necessarily ‘me’

And so I need to change it….



Given that it is now 20 minutes before I officially have to start preparing for the day (… I don’t want to / I’m scared … ) I’ll sketch out ‘how’ later …

But – after bursting into tears at the mere thought of the day-start , I gathered together all of the protective / weighty negativity, googled “Living Yolates” and danced in my living space for a good half hour. I then prepared an adaptogen-spiked-venegtable juice shot (see above) and started typing.

I’m not sure where this will go. But it has to start somewhere… and then it has to continue.

My next post will offer a skeleton of intent.

Given that I have about three readers (kisses to each – xxx ) this last sentence is just as much for me as it is for you.

… laughing …

“Back yourself”

A golden lustre — held below the ribs  … above the diaphragm … chest-cavity filling …

A sphere of strength – of  confidence – of surety … the understanding that ‘as I am’ is enough.

A push from one who knows me …

… offered objectively and without motive.

A gift accepted … held … polished.


… Sunday night spent imaging a world where everyone was offered such generosity …

… and planning how I can pass it on …


The illusion of control … ?

There is a destined path of goodness for me – my decisions and actions will not affect the end at which I find myself.

Destiny : the inevitability of a future state.


My  decisions and actions determine my future – the end at which I find myself is inevitable given my past decisions and actions and the laws of nature.

Determinism : control over the future only insofar as there is control over current decisions and actions.


Over the past few days I have been told to “go with the flow”; asked to define exactly what I think that I can control; advised to have faith that what is supposed to be is, or will be.

Some days I believe that I am the sole author of my own future. Other days, I look back with the surety of hindsight and see destiny’s hand.

Can I believe in both destiny and determinism? That destiny has a purpose in mind but that the paths leading to this end are multiple, dependent upon my present actions …

In accepting what ‘is’, I feel that I am relinquishing any influence over what will be.

I hold onto the assumption that I have some influence over what will be … to what extent, and to what end, I am not sure.


The Plan.


My perfect work day …

… begins and ends at a time that encourages elements other than work. It does not begin and end at the same time every day – it flows according to need, focus and priority.

It is a collage of interesting conversations and goal-orientated action. It is supported by constructive criticism and generous recognition.

It looks forward to travel – to sharing ideas – to speaking in French.

My perfect work space …

… is a place of learning and growth; ideas are rolled, chewed, folded, refined.

There is an assured leader with a stated outcome.

There is a sense of common purpose and single team; there is energy.

There is space for new. There is encouragement of “What If…?” … “What Is It For?”


And the work that I do on this day, in this space …

… empowers communities that produce raw and value added food.

This could mean ensuring that socially responsible practices are developed, followed and valued. It could mean creating connection between the consumer and the producer.

It will mean that the food product is more valued that it was yesterday.

It will mean that the communities that produce the food product are stronger than they were yesterday.

It will mean that consumers have a clearer choice than they did yesterday.

It will not market good – it will do good.


And now to find it.


We need a watch that tells us how to breathe …



In 20 minutes the class of 17 had warmed-up, picked up weights, put them down and minute 19 saw us contemplating a section where Pilates and yoga had fused to offer exercise for the core …

Minute 20 saw us accepting the offer.

Minute 20 saw most of us holding our breath to push discomfort into a darker corner.

Imagine if minutes saw …

And our instructor, in reminding us to inhale, landed on the idea of the watch that tells us how, and when,  to breathe.



The watch that tells me if I have been communicated with, or if my heart rate is sufficiently high, or if my sleep was appropriately sound also telling me when to inhale, exhale – reminding me to sustain my own existence.

And while I know that the comment should have included the adjective “properly”

as with all communication, the devil is in the detail.

… it was the catalyst for the thought :

Will there be a point in human evolution where we need to be reminded when to breathe?

Will there come a time when I am so dependent upon something that I attach to my person that I forget to rely on my person?