Singular Scene

So Singular in Each Particular

Be Careful What You Wish For

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I know I’m one of probably 80%* of people who have been blogging as long as I have who have run out of ‘blogging steam’ in the last couple of years. It’s easy to do, a blog about your personal life, a life that has settled into some kind of mundane normality, isn’t one that provides much fodder for reflection or much interest for those who may have been reading.  You know, at least as long as all you’re doing is getting up, going to work, eating socialising and so on.

Frankly, I could have been blogging about my Melbourne adventures, but those have mainly revolved around trying new restaurants, drinking new and ever fancier local beers. Furthermore, I  have never wanted this blog to turn into that Christmas letter you see ever year. You know the one, you’ve probably got one on your mantlepiece as we speak, one that rattles off all of the year’s achievements, and sometimes the ups and downs, but mostly which serves to be a ‘on-paper’ Facebook wrap up that shows off the bits of our life that makes us look more interesting than we are.

This makes me think that for some writing a personal blog and reading everyone else’s, at least in this quarter, has run out of steam because we’re only so interesting as we are different from those around us, and as the similarities become more obvious the longer we blog… I don’t know.. I’m spitballing here… just writing until I’m ready to write what I’m actually supposed to write about.

So, about that…

In reference to the title… I had a moment recently when I’d kind of wished that my life hadn’t settled so quickly back into normality even in my new surroundings; I kind of hoped that I had more fodder to write about… and well, here we are after a visit to the surgeon with just that.

More to write about.

Don’t panic.

I’m not panicking, so frankly I don’t you need panicking either. I really only know a little more now than I did before my appointment. That really only amounts to having seen the x-ray and had pointed out the area on those films which has raised these questions.  I do know that the point of curiosity on the x-ray is a 2.,5cm long lytic lesion (go ahead, look it up, but I don’t want you to tell me what you find, thanks) that’s sitting at the top of my right humerus just below the shoulder joint.

The surgeon has said “It could be a tumor”, and the fact that the edges aren’t strictly smooth makes them want to look at it further.  So, yep, I’m still in limbo, still in that ‘awkward in between’ until I have a bone scan and CT scan next week (Monday).

So yeah, stick around, I’ll give you an update then.

*made up number

I’m in Mexico

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No, really. It’s what they call Victoria, you know, if you’re from New South Wales… Mexico… south of the border.

Hey, I never said it was funny (or culturally sensitive). I wonder though, do Queenslanders call New South Welshmen, Mexicans too? For we are south of their border. Please advise. (What can I say, these are the things I think about.)

That was a dreadfully long way of saying I’m back in Melbourne. You know, because I can’t move here soon enough, and I got cheap airfares, and because Katia is here and so, given she came all the way from Paris to Melbourne, the least I could do was trek down from Sydney (as if I needed an excuse) in order that we may meet over dim sum.

So here I am in Mexico Melbourne and being here has a whole different feel now that it is settled in my head and heart that I’m going to come live here. It seems to me that I should feel all sorts of excited, and I do, but the idea also feels overwhelming. You know, that “OMG what on earth am I thinking?”; “is it really a good idea?”; “am I going to regret this/am I really sure?” and is it too late to change my mind? feeling. Of course, it isn’t too late to change my mind. Neither do I want to, but just to make sure, I sift through all my reasons for making such a change and examine them, turning each one over and checking it for any warping or twisting, for anything that undermines this overwhelming desire for change.

I factor in to these thoughts (as a last resort), that if things don’t work out it’s only my pride that will get hurt, that if I hightail it back to Sydney in the next 6 months at least I’ll be able to say I had given it a go. But even in having said that, I’m really not doubting the idea at all, just acutely aware that whatever expectations, large or small I bring to such a change NONE of them will be met exactly as I anticipate them. Some will be exceeded, some may be shattered, but I’ll make the move and hope and plan (as well as I can) for the best.

Taking Courage

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I’m a dedicated observer of human behavior. I don’t do anything about that other than make the occasional comment. I’m not a counselor, I’m not particularly concerned about changing people’s behaviour except perhaps where their actions or words affect me. But I will often observe what people do and and give some thought to why they may have acted that way or why that pattern exists in their repertoire…

Someone else who observes behaviour and goes further into discussing and writing about such things is social researcher Brené Brown. I came across her not long after her famous Tedx Houston talk took the Internet by storm (see below) and I’m posting her follow up video as well, because it is equally life changing. If you haven’t come across them before I strongly urge you to watch them.

Brené takes on issues of shame and vulnerability and advocates living life wholeheartedly and courageously, giving insight into why westerners are so addicted, medicated, overweight and miserable. She talks about why we try and numb our pain, and in doing so completely numb joy and all that’s good, as well. She talks about why we live always expecting the hammer to fall, and why we feel undeserving and unworthy.

I don’t pretend to have appropriated all of her thoughts but I am (for the most part) pretty together. I’ve made some unusually old fashioned choices (for this day and age) about how I live and while sometimes those decisions are restrictive, to be honest, they’ve set me in good stead in terms of my self esteem and the ability to live comfortably in my own skin.

Why am I sharing this stuff? Well, in recent months I’ve observed a dear friend make some radical, life changing decisions that are taking her into a whole new life, one without shame, fear, intimidation and one in which she can actually start to get in touch with her true self and it’s utterly beautiful to watch.  It hasn’t come without a price but what I’ve seen is someone having the courage to step out, to be vulnerable and to take back life with both hands. I’ve introduced her to Brené and she was inspired. I hope, if this is the first time you’ve met her and heard her speak you’ll feel the same.

Enjoy!

Ink-spell

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I never, ever wanted to be an old lady with a tattoo and yet, here I am sporting ink for the first time at the ripe old age of 44.

I’m so [cough] hipster.

Someone once said to me, the only reason to get a tattoo is for it to really mean something… and as soon as they said it I knew what I would get.

It has been well documented in the pages of this here blog that my mantra is No Regrets, No Excuses and so of course, the idea of that text as ink having been planted it would.not.let.me.go in the succeeding months.

Once I’d made peace with the idea over a period of a year (making sure I was not being rash about it)  I then spent the last 6 months fiddling about with potential fonts (coz anyone who knows me well knows that I’m all about the words, not the pictures) … and finally decided on a modified version of Mon Amour Script with which to decorate my arm.

At first I had wanted to put these words on my right wrist, but after the initial consultation with the artist it transpired that the font I’d chosen required being substantially larger than I’d thought in order to be still looking good in a year’s time (instead of smudged and blotchy) …

So, I went home with my design, tweaked it further and reduced some of the complexity so that the script really did become a custom font and finally, on May the 1st my mate Bernie and I made our way across to Inner Vision Tattoo in Surry Hills and under the steady hand of Megan Oliver we got our ink, Bernie’s a smaller less complex design inside her wrist and mine, inside of my right forearm.

I honestly didn’t know how I’d feel afterwards… would I be sorry? Would I actually regret having a tattoo… and wouldn’t THAT be dumb, given that the very text precluded regretting anything!

I secretly felt as though I’d feel fantastic… a little bit badass, and a whole lot of stoked with myself. And that’s exactly how I felt, and how I still feel.

I love that this little part of something that burns deep on the inside of me is now actually visible on the outside.