Jackie liked high places

Oh air travel. How I love that moment when the engines start and I snuggle down into a noisy envelope of aeroplane for a little rest, work on lap, no intention of doing it, sleep then daydreaming then reading mystery novel. And when it is landing and I can see all those hills and windy rivers and craggy ravines and speckles of sheep and tracks of cows and stubbly vegetation, and lonely remnant eucalypts, widowed and left standing exposed in the emptiness, and last night, strange graph-like shadows up and down like some ECG, being thrown off the wind-break trees, and latent ecologist in me thinks 'mmm, shadows, you could do some kind of age structure analysis from photos of their shadows' but then I realise this would only work for these very strange paper thin strips of trees which sit exposed with a road on one side and the vast dry paddock behind them, and only then for the ones which happen to face the right way so that the sun as it sets warms their fronts and their backs cast these jagged shadows. And then, closer, closer and the rough jolt as wheels hit, always so ecxhilerating, like some kind of aeronautical orgasm - kabang, we have arrived.

Truth doesn't make a noise

Oh dear. When archaelogists from the future trawl their electronic nets through the dusty layers of cyberspace and get out their nano paintbrushes to dust off the crud, if they come by the last few months of this blog they may think 'mmmm, the Bridget Jones epoch - sex and the city period.' Yes things have been a little 'what the fuck am I doing?' esque, with a liberal sprinkling of 'and am I going to have to figure it out by myself with narry a distracting shag / meaningful soul mate in sight?', but there you have it.

And yet, while I am noting I am not disavowing or regretting the wingeing posts for the following reasons:
- I think it's all too easy to present a neatly edited whimsical cool facade that never admits to any undercurrents of doubt or pain.. to do this either in the blogosphere or in the flesh. This might make more slick reading, and be less unsettling, but in my opinion does us all the disservice of creating a shared illusion that things are peachy keen for all of us all the time. I really appreciate the honesty of other people who can tell their stories without the protective layer of cool, and occasionally I try to do the same. By doing this we give each other the permission to do it too.
- The atheistic/ agnostic confessional at your fingertips. To lean back and be caught. To confess and not have the world open up and swallow you. Where do we get to be just listened to, to vent, to admit to the things we aren't so proud of so they loose their power over us? Where else can we do this in the company of peers, knowing that if they choose to be there they are open to the vageries of your thoughts and presumably are fairly accepting. Surely out is better than in?
- Sharing multifaceted selves. I was out for dinner eating very good noodles with an old friend a few weeks ago and told a story about a social situation recently where I was nervous and shy so drank too much too fast and behaved a little badly. She said "but that's so unlike you" and I thought 'uhuh, because you'd know??' and reflected on how easy it is to have our inner worlds and outer worlds not match up. I choose to claim the full suite of emotional experiences as possibilities and sometimes this involves talking about the crap ones.
- Maybe this isn't the case for everyone, I'm not reallly sure (hhm, there's a research question in there somewhere...), but posts on this blog are not a faithful account of all of my daily thoughts or activities, or a reading of my average mood for a week, but a snapshot of whatever is burning a hole in my pocket most at the time that needs sharing. It doesn't mean that I am on loop being miserable just because a post is miserable.
- It's good practice. In my family growing up I felt responsible for my mother and like many girls / first borns/ only children / children of single parent families / children of parents who have been victims of family violence / children with asynchronous development I often took on a fairly adult role in providing emotional support. The corollary to this was that it was often not OK for me to express my own 'negative' emotions, and the general message I interpreted from the environment was that I was responsible for other people's feelings and that other people were tender and needed protecting from things that could upset them; and the things that could huirt them included me expressing my being sad or angry or hurt. So, in fact, the whole thing about expressing sadness, and wanting consolation or at least wanting to express it in an environment where other people can 'handle it' and don't become emotionaly distressed in response, is really important for me. And ok it's kind of lame to do it through the written word to a motley crew of friends and strangers, but I think that's ok. (Sorry, not that you are each motley, you are each lovely, but togther would make a funny dinner party).

So no, these posts not a 'cry for help' as a local friend and blog reader asked me over the weekend, but just processing, a window into a bit of a crap time, and me talking coz I can.

More thoughts on the 'am I actually looking for a life partner, is that my biological clock ticking, is this all a ruse to distract me from my life's purpose, what did that wacky dream mean about the drowning man, or do I just need to start dating and get a shag...?' conundrum later. I may even share Mermaidgrrls strategy to get me dating and my less serious but slightly amusing 'date-athon' paypal money spinning, blog material generating, people meeting idea.

Speaking of which, does anyone know a seriously good (I am very picky) Jungian analyst who is good with dreams in the Emerald City? I have had a few I'd like to bounce around with someone rather than do solo.

Oh and maybe 'well we can laugh about it now but at the time it was terrible' as a belated, and optimistic, title below?

can't think of a song title so you'll just have to imagine your own

Went out on the town with a couple of the inner west ladeez last night, which was really lovely. You know you are with good friends when a) you burst into tears as you arrive because you've had such a shitty day and are given a hug and a glass of wine and then made to laugh by silly stories b) your biological clock gets a little loud over dinner and you say despairingly at the pub 'I'm scared I will be 80 years old and just have millions of cats and be painting!' and they say 'great, that sounds like fun, I'll come visit' and you realise that maybe the cats and paintings are really not such a bad prospect. It's just that right now I feel a bit passed over, and feel like maybe everyone else in the whole world is in a relationship except me, and that maybe it's a sign of my un-eligibility. That I am un-eligible because I am messy and immature and wracked with self-doubt and dissillusioned with the notion of romantic love, but at the same time susceptible to ridiculous ill-founded unrequited crushes, and have a big bottom, and am crap with finances, and secretly think that I'm going to do something else amazing other than my day job but just haven't figured out what yet, and wonder all the time about how to be a good person and live a useful life, and don't really like most of the things you're meant to be interested in apparently, to be part of this time and place, and don't drive, and am a crap swimmer, and didn't write to 2 of my 3 grandmothers at Christmas time, and my half way through postgrad uni course has kind of drifted of my agends and is lost somewhere in paperwork floating in yet unpacked boxes from my house move 2 months ago, and I like to check out my reflections in shop windows, and really don't like the admin woman at work because she is so rude to me sometimes so have recently stopped even trying to chat to her and sometimes relish in thinking what a bitch she is, and get stroppy and impatient in meetings when people are slow and talking about stuff I think is trivial, and am self obsessed, and, and. Whatever. Of course I can't imagine why someone wouldn't want to hook up and hear me list my flaws on a saturday arvo.

Which is lame. And not 'the right attitude'. It reminds me of a Cat and Girl cartoon, where Girl says 'there are two types of people in the world - those who play a miniature violin, and those whop say 'boo hoo' in a sarcastic voice'. Feel free to be either.

This being human is a guest house
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy,a depression,a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all !
Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out for some new delight.
The dark thought,the shame,the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.
Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.
~ RUMI~

Monster mash

Thanks to Angel for distracting me from work doledrums the other day with tales of knitting as grafffiti. She inspired me to do some aimless craft trawling and whilst doing so found this excellent pattern for making a fury monster cover for an ipod:

http://kiddley.com/2007/01/30/cover-an-ipod-with-a-fuzzy-monster/

I passed it on to a friend at work, whose teenaged daughter has since whipped up a lime green fuzzy fronted and hot pink backed, goggle eyed monster ipod-nano cover, which she is very happy with.

Here comes the sun

Yoga is so beautifully metaphoric, I really like it. After starting strong with a 3-times-a-week goal at the start of this month and sticking to it for 2 weeks I fast dropped off to 1 and then zero last week. I let social things and sleep and work take up all the evenings and sleep and housework take up the w’end mornings. Back on the horse tonight though, with a class straight after work and felt so good for it.

I left and thought ‘my body is carrying me home’ as if my brain was ever so peaceful and just hitching along for the ride. Every step feels balanced and strong straight after yoga. My legs were wobbly from a few lingering lunges, and arms feeling very zingy from plank and half plank poses because my upper body is not used to any real exertion.

I’m doing hatha yoga, which is slow, and quite static compared to other kinds, but still very interesting. It requires patience and perseverance to relax into strong stretches, and it is amazing how much strength it takes just to keep your own body still, balanced, extended. I like the fact that in a long pose there is time for your mind to wander and wander back. I like that the thing that you need to work with most, get to know most, move past is yourself. It becomes so clear how your own doubts, frustration or self-judgment is what holds you back – not the physical limitations of your body, because they are changeable. Ultimately the objective isn’t a more impressive stretch or mega flexibility – the objective is to be in the moment and focused on the movement. As my teacher was saying tonight, any flexibility or strength or balance your develop over time is a by-product of, not the goal of, the meditation.

I like you I like you I like you

“I must be quite trashed to tell you this but actually I don’t find big cocks that much of a turn on. Sometimes they just hurt. I’m quite happy accommodating average’ says my gorgeous gay male friend.

‘So what do you think – Catherine: shaved or just trimmed?’ says my once upon a time briefly kind of friend, who is now relegated firmly to acquaintance. To the other guys, as their colleague gets just out of ear shot.

“Campari and soda!?” says this someone who I think I might have once been kind of dating. Platonic dating. My peverse specialty? (more consternation on this to come). “You ordered it once that time just up the road – remember? And I thought wow, no one drinks that - that…’ ‘That’s such a nanna drink’ I finished for him. He tells the story to the others, of what I’d ordered, how remarkable he’d found it, how it reminds him of me even now. I let him go to the bar and get me one and note how this feels to have someone wheel out their image of you, based on nothing but some random moments. He also loves to tell me how analytical I am, what an intellectual, and I smile and nod and wonder what part of my naked flesh spread bare he might conjecture about when I leave the room, what flip line about his musings on my style in bed he might off handedly throw to the man standing next to him. I think ‘that’s not who I am – I’m not some demure and quirky intellectual who habitually sips campari and soda’ . I can vaguely remember the time I ordered that, on a low brown leather couch, me flushed and nervous (dating always unsettles me, I can never remember who I’m meant to be) and I find it amusing to think of this triviality which he thinks of as some defining feature was probably some posery gesture of mine towards sophistication, or maybe just a response to a hot hot day, maybe it was me trying not to get drunk too quickly in my nervousness. He returns with my drink. I thank him, I drink it and then go to beer.

This same man once said ‘are you sure you’re not a lesbian?’ to me, one on of our last dates. Which I thought was amusing – not because the notion of being with women is so foreign to me, not at all – but just because the way he framed it was very much ‘well, I’ve tried everything and we haven’t been to bed yet but you still keep agreeing to meet me for drinks and conversation so surely you must be a lesbian’. I was single at the time, and he had recently left the relationship he ended up returning to and ringing with a band of gold and newly renovated walls. Did he have a point? Was it strange that I met him, acessorised and flushed and talked for hours but didn’t have sex with him? Didn’t even kiss him? Maybe, maybe not. Maybe if one is lonely and more casual with ones physical space it is strange to not consummate any passing interest with sex. But you see, I think I knew even then the difference between squirming in the heat of someone’s gaze, and moving to the warmth that your own cells make when you like someone. Even if I didn’t know I knew it. And I didn’t really like him. Like him even less now.

Which brings me to muse on a question that I find interesting to roll around like some slow dissolving boiled lolly. What is it we like in other people who we fall for? Sometimes I conjecture that the most important thing, the things that makes someone appeal most (but not that ensures lasting compatability, not necessarily, I think that’s a different suite of characteristics), is not what you like about them – but what they like about you. You see, I am quite open to liking lots of people, I mean I can often see good and attractive qualities in people. I feel strong fondness towards certain characteristics like gentleness, or earnestness, or patience and of course, good humour (and yes attraction to eyes, and hands and arms and a laugh and the way someone touches or smells or kisses). But that isn’t enough, I seem to need to like the things that they like about me. For example, if someone professed to like me mostly because they think I’m ‘pretty’ that would be a major turn off. Case in point – a few years ago at a party, in the dark depths of the night outside on a milk crate, an ex-lover sat opposite me and said (slurring mind – it was very romantic) and said ‘you’re still beautiful’. To which I replied, indignant ‘still?!’ as if to express my disdain at his implied notion that I had withered up and disappeared since he had last seen me or we had been together. But then, and more relevant to my point here, I said ‘and that’s not even my best quality!’ huffily. Because it’s true – if someone likes me most for some random configuration of my facial features, it makes you wonder whether they’ve failed to notice all the qualities that in fact I hold dear, that I strive to embody. I have even been guilty of scoffing off handedly when someone tells me in bed that I’m beautiful – just scoffing at the cliché of it, of the tired old notion, and in some ways the irrelevance. I was feeling rather cynical back in those days though, maybe I could accept that more graciously now.

Other words that people have draped around my shoulders to give me form are: clever, nice, interesting, mysterious, confident. None of these grab me much as reasons for someone to like me. I would be cautious about anyone telling me they liked me because I was ‘interesting’ – it just means they haven’t read the same books as me, give them time, they will – I will stop being interesting. ‘Nice’ is so bland – I would rather be seen as simultaneously overwhelmingly saintly and outrageously devilish rather than nice. Nice suggests they don’t know me well, and will only like me being moderate, well behaved.

‘Confident’ is so one-dimensional, and often inaccurate. The first time they see me weeping with snot running down my face at some childhood hurt triggered randomly, or see me anxious at the international airport, still a little overwhelmed at the idea that I can leave the country and embark on jourtneys to places unseen, or stressing before some steering committee meeting where I feel underprepared and exposed, ‘confident’ will be shown up as the flappy little awning it is. And then what? Someone takes away their respect and admiration because you weren’t the 2-dimensional all singing all dancing shadow puppet they had conjured up for you? No thanks.

And so on.

A friend at work came up to my desk last week and smiled and told me in a kind of amazed voice that whenever he comes over to my desk it feels all clean and fresh, and his feels all dirty and messy in comparison. He stood there for a while like he wanted to stay, and I was flattered because as far as I could see my desk was as messy as anyone's - things in piles and stuff, but there were plants I guess and pictures, and I liked this strange compliment a lot. I went over to his desk later and told him that it wasn't messy and dirty, it was just cosy and unselfconscious. Which I thought it was, which I think he is.

What I think I would like someone to like about me is everything – or nothing in particular – maybe not even knowing, maybe not even liking my qualities that much, but just liking me anyway, despite themselves. Some attraction that can’t get reduced to some boxes to tick, some intrigue and fascination which is as much about flaws as perfection, some commitment to giving it a go and being honest with each other over the lumps and bumps of the relationship terrain. That’s what I’d like.

there is more to life than books you know, but not much more

Check out Booklub - link at left - for my January ramblings.

Shes in Fashion

Check out Making Groovy THings Blog - link at left - for Lula's latest T-shirt craftiness.

ps

I meant use all song lyrics for my post titles - not for the whole post! Although that could also be fun. Kind of like that beat poetry which involved cuttting up books and then rearranging into new poetry, or like the concept of mashing or sampling but with lyrics not tunes. Happy Monday lyrics on Mondays, Mozza after disastrous dates, some random mix of soul and hip hop and French pop on other days. Send me your fave lyrcs in the comments box if you want to donate them to a future bad lyric poetry jam.

Wont someone stop me from thinking from thinking all the time

I have decided to use all song lyrics for my posts for the next few weeks, just to amuse myself, but also in homage to the way that good lyrics say so much about what you think. Stay tuned.

Saw Leonard Cohen movie last night - it was great. Touching. Moving. Funny.

nap-licious and not another career crisis

Oh I wanted a nap at work today. So much. So, so, so much. I actually secretly scoped the meeting rooms, with a growing sense of urgency, like some kind of sleep addict. I couldn't find that perfect combo of not visible from the door, dark, and enough room to lie down. So I went out for a brisk walk instead. Soaked up some sun, enjoyed the heat on skin, saw the young men and women in overalls smoking and kicking the ground out the front of the mechanics college, saw people in utes driving places, people in cafes looking out. Wall, footpath, spilt black ooze, leaves, shattered glass, crumbling paint, leaves of trees and tall plants tickling my eyes as I slide them over their green. Was nice to be out, to get visual and sensory stimulation.

Had to phone a friend (metaphorically) and get someone else to help finish writing something today - just ran out of steam, cobbled together a crappy paragraph and then said 'please just edit it I think it's crap'. Like all my energy had just seeped out and there were no words left in my fingers or brain. It was the tired thing I think. Got up too early and didn't quite last the distance. Some days - maybe too often - I really wonder about this work thing. Am I any god at this thing I do? Why do I do it? What else could I do that is useful, makes me happpy and I have something to contribute/ am good at? I see these floating rings of some mythical venn diagram where those little rings are just trying to overlap but don't exactly, maybe they gently bounce off and arouoind each other, trying too find a way to connnect, to catch hold, and settle in close to each other.

So... Is what I do useful? Well, I could definitely make an argument for it being the case. It is kind of the job which is a logical progression of the last 7 years of work 'in my field', and strangely all the bits jobs and activist and volunteer stuff before that. And the study too. So in that way seems to be exactly what I was angling for, my dream, 'useful' job. After all the 'themes' that I work on are all very topical and related to sustainability, environmental protection, natural resources, living within our means, better decision maing, better public engagement in decision making etc. Some of the projects result in demonstrable change, real life actual decisions made differently (well, not so many of mine recently, but collectively with some of my colleagues projects counted too this is the case). Others I trust contribute somehow to the ripples of change, little pushes in complex systems that may end up with results somewhere surprising later. So 'useful'? Kind of. Arguably. You would think so, and that would be why I am there.

Am I good at it? Well, before I answer this one maybe I should ponder on why this is one of the things that I have on my list of criteria for 'sniffing out my life's work'. Why is it that I think that the perfect combo should involve me doing something I'm good at? Based partly on that idea that we alll have skills (I can just hear Napolean Dynamite right about now ' bow hunting skills, num chuck skills...'), you know, special skills, things that come easily for us but that are useful to others, and therefore it makes sense to focus our contributions on these things... but is it also just because I'm lazy, and can't bear the idea of slogging away at something that I'm bad at, doesn't feel right or feels forced? So hard to know whether I'm just trying to find the wei wei (Tao style) or whether I am just hideously lazy and conceited and don't want to find that my life's work involves slogging away at something hard and unrewarding that I suck at. But you know despite these concerns, I think I stick by the decision to have this as one of the considerations. After all I really like the idea of finding yoour grove and giving generously and easily from whatever it is I have the most to give from.

Oh - and my current job - am I good at it? Not sure. Good at thinking up new ideas, analytical thinking, making ridiculously detailed tables, sometimes writing. Good at making jokes to lighten things up when I think meetings have gone boring. Learn quickly and know little bits about lots of diffferent topics. Good at remembering lots of things all at once and making connections between things. Good at initiating social stuff and sometimes making tea.(Uhuh, yep, if this is my next job application I can just feel the rejection letter coming!). Not so good at constancy - sometimes chatty, sometimes want time 'in my cave'. Not so good at caring about doing all the squillions of little things I remember need doing. Terribly reluctant when it comes to just sticking to my task list and doing what I'm told. Not good at being quiet and holding back my opinions. Not good at dressing corporate, minding my own business, doing fiddly calculations. Actually reallly reallly quite bad at minding my own business and doing things I find boring. Very very good at thinking up new systems and procedures and opportunities and how to get things done. And the mix of what needs doing at my job? I have sinking feelings that maybe a little more doing what is on the to do list and a little less designing great new things is in order. That bothers me. And what bothers me underneath that initial bothered-ness feeling, is the idea that if I can't find a way to do what I do well here, in this job - where will I?

And as for does it make me happy? Well.... the place and people are nice and I like the values that drive what we do. I like working with people who I have some shared views with, and knowing that, on the face of it, my work is useful (see above) and that everyone I work with is there primarily because of a shared belief in the work we do, and not because of pay or convenience, habit or status. But happpy, well that's still not clear. I feel happpiest at work when I am lost in the moment talking about ideas with other people who like to talk about ideas and don't think you are strange for wanting to draw a diagram to explain a concept or to goggle words or characters from history mid-conversation, or for wanting to talk about ideas in the first place. I enjoy those moments of human connection that are based just on shared warmth - of enjoying each others' company, of nice gestures, of a group laughing together or people making pots of tea to share (I was serious about the tea making). In terms of actual work related tasks, I feel happiest, in a way, when I don't feel anything except absorption. Those moments when I am lost in the task, so lost that there is no me left to be aware of being lost. At work this is mostly when I am doing something self-directed and creative - channeling some idea, chasing some link or fleshing out a concept for the first time. But these are glimmers, and the to do list still waits, those little churning chores still need doing, and mostly they are the chaff of my day. So, in a way, my workplace makes me happy theoretically, but the work itsef doesn't ring my bells.

But is dealing with this a good oppportunity to become a better person - work as my daily practice? That opportunity to observe my practices, breath and relax into it, try to stop patterns of negative self talk, develop patience and compassion and go deeper where I can. Or, am I being blinded by nice pot plants, good beverages and lovely people into accepting a 9-5 which doesn't rock my world? Am I still settling in and finding my niche? Am I being ridiculous to think that one should look for the overlapping circles?

My weekend

So on Mondays does anyone else get that thing where there is a post-weekend debrief at wherever it is you go on Mondays? I get it at work: 'So, how was your weekend?' and then we all retell earnestly to whoever earnestly asked, and so often the answers invove tennis or canyoning, or authentic blues gigs in warehouses, or theatre, or cocktails at newly opened bars, or meditation retreats, or time on beaches, or interstate jaunts. So often I think 'oh shit, what's the polite way to say I stayed home and watched the Bill on Saturday night, I had a bath and read, I went to yoga, I pottered in the garden, I wondered about things, I cooked soup...?'. It's not that I worry that my life isn't exciting (oh yeah, go on, I admit, I do), it's also that I feel like the retelling makes us into ken and barbie style robots. It's all what we did, which of our cute little outfits we wore before we zoomed off on our barbie horse or in our barbie campervan or popped into the barbie pink convertible towards a bit of pants painted on frenzied hair messing and plastic face kissing with ken. So, I like this Toothpaste for Dinner comiic, it makes me smile http://www.toothpastefordinner.com/012807/weekend-pie-graph.gif . Although I think a flip book might work better for me. Or.. I have been fancying the retelling of my weekends from now on in moods and experience not activities. Like this:
"Well Friday night was a bit of alcohol fueled ingeneousness and hilarity, followed by some dogged question asking (with no consideration at all of sociel niceties). After a decent slip into the subconscious I reemerged to some vague feelings of self-recrimination and mild embarassment, a bit of longing, and followed up with some evening of companionable interchange with others. More subconscious repose and then up bright and early for physical vitality and feelings of usefulness, vigour and creative interactions with vegetables, then some wandering appreciation of the light as it fell across buildings in the early afternoon. Afternoon featured some procrastination and analytical thought, evening was a nice return to companionable interchange and resting. You?"