Blog Posts

How much would you pay for love?

6/10/2014

I need to begin with a ‘The Year of More’ Confession.

A few weekends ago I bought a DVD.

Yes, I know, I promised I wouldn’t.

But I did it for love.

Truly.

Last year I had bought the movies ‘Before Sunset’ and ‘Before Sunrise’ on one DVD and when I finally got around to watching them a few weeks ago, I simply couldn’t wait to find out what happened to these characters in the third movie ‘Before Midnight’.

I was so caught up in their love story that I broke one of my goals for The Year of More – to not buy any DVDs for 12 months. I briefly thought about renting it from my video store (yes, they still exist!) but I was pretty sure I would want to watch it again so I chose to invest $12.95 in my own copy instead.

Did I need to buy it? No. But love makes us do irrational and impulsive things sometimes.

On the Scale of Irrational and Impulsive Things this one is quite minor of course, but it’s a slippery slope to The Bigger Things. Trust me, I know from experience. That slope is desperately slippery at times.

I have done many, many, many Irrational and Impulsive things in The Name of Love.

I rushed out to spend $12.95 on love and it wasn’t even my love story. It wasn’t even about Real People Who Actually Exist. It was about characters created by the imagination of someone else. And yet I felt completely invested in their love story and I literally couldn’t wait to find out what happened to them.

Fictional love has a fairly hefty gravitational pull but real life love has the greatest gravitational pull of all.

Think about the romantic love stories in your life.

The first one.

The grand ones.

The painful ones.

The one you perhaps still daydream about from time to time.

The one which continues.

The ones which have ended.

The ones which helped you grow.

Which is hopefully all of the above. Love should always help us to grow.

I realise that DVD didn’t cost a huge amount of money but I broke one of my cardinal rules for The Year of More so that makes it a significant expenditure.

So it got me thinking about the price we pay for love.

The price we pay can be monetary.

Or letting go of an ideal.

Or giving up freedom.

Or taking on responsibility.

Image from Pinterest

Or facing the fear of having your heart broken again.

Or the fear of vulnerability.

‘I’m not going anywhere’.

Surely they are four of the most beautiful words ever put together to form a short sentence.

That’s love in itself isn’t it?

I think about all of these things when I think about falling in love again. Except perhaps, the ideal of him being taller, although I’m sure there’s another ideal kicking around in my heart that is screaming out to be satisfied. Although I think it’s simply that he will accept me warts and snorts and all for The Quirky Being I Am.

I applaud people who are brave enough to Love Again.

Because quite frankly it’s a scary prospect to the Little Miss Independent who resides safely in Her Happy Little Life.

That’s me, in case that was a tad vague.

I guess like anything in life, love is about doing a risk analysis. Yes, you can even be nerdy with love.

Is what I’m giving up – freedom, heart safety, possession of the remote control (omg, would that mean I might have to get the TV aerial fixed and watch football again?? Surely not!), financial independence, 100% decision making about my life, being responsible for Just My Little Old Self and most importantly, giving up the delightful life I’m living now.

In exchange for…

A collage of photos from My Delightful Single Life

The Great Unknown Land of Love.

Love in its grandest of grand forms.

A love made of tougher stuff than all previous versions in my life have been.

A love to share in the most intimate of ways.

A love which withstands fear and vulnerability.

A love which grows as strong and solid as a gum tree.

A love which laughs out loud and snorts along with me.

A love which allows me to continue to grow as my own person.

Those of you who are comfortable and secure in your love lives probably don’t remember the feeling of The Love Unknown. I know I didn’t when I was Happily in Love.

The Love Known is a place of security and never-ending possibility. It's a place people long to reside.

I’ve never forgotten sitting next to a couple on a plane flying from LA to London when I was a very naïve twenty-one year old. They were a couple in their thirties; he English, she American. She cried from the moment she sat down in the seat next to me. Not quiet crying. Gut-wrenching, heartbreaking sobs. After an hour or so, she got up to go to the bathroom and her husband and I got talking. He explained they’d just gotten married and they were moving to London to live. A happy story one might think. So why was she so upset?

Because she had two children she was leaving behind in California. I can’t quite remember why they couldn’t live in the States but there was some problem with his visa so they were going to live in the UK for a few years and then move to LA to be closer to her children.

Even my young, naïve self knew how significant that must be for a parent to do.

Leaving children behind is a rather hefty price to pay for love isn’t it?

Due to my insatiably curious nature, over the years I’ve often wondered what happened to them. Did their marriage survive or was the price she paid too high? How did her children cope in her absence? What message did her actions send to them about love and relationships?

When we hear about people making huge decisions like this, we often feel as though we have a right to weigh in. To have an opinion. And too often, to voice an opinion.

But we never ever know what’s really going on for someone else. In their head and their heart. We can never look at someone else’s life through our Life Lens. It’s hard enough making Big Life Decisions without having everyone judge you for them at the same time.

I remember thinking this was surely the most difficult decision of this woman’s young life and I felt compassion for her but I was also a little bewildered about how she could seemingly choose a man ahead of her children.

Perhaps one of the most controversial and publicly debated Love Decisions was made by King Edward XIII. Edward (I feel I can call him that), gave up his place on the English throne on 10 December 1936 (having been King for less than twelve months) because he wished to marry Wallis Simpson, a twice-divorced American he had been having an affair with for a number of years. Edward and his love married and lived together in exile until his death in 1972.

I’m sure his reasons for abdicating were not as clear cut as merely ‘being in love’ but I guess he felt he would find greater happiness with her, than he would being the King of England. Not a small price to pay.

That’s the interesting thing about the concept of ‘sliding doors’, we never ever know what our lives would have been like had we gone through the other door instead.

Where would you be now if you’d taken that chance on love?

Where would you be now if you hadn’t given up on that relationship which hadn’t quite reached its use-by date?

Where would you be now if you’d realised a long time ago that the person you’re with is not the person your heart truly longs to love?

I saw a photo of an old love of mine online last week and he is now step-father to four children (he already has three of his own) and it took the wind out of me, even though it's not the first time I've seen a photo of them all together. The Irrational Impulsive Human that I am, automatically compared My Life to His which was an absolutely ridiculous thing to be doing. The rational part of me knew that.

But I did it anyway. Involuntarily and painfully. Until I stopped to remind myself that I chose a different life than the one I could have shared with him. And that I have a Most Lovely Life which I wouldn't trade for all the chocolate in Willy Wonka's little factory.

But sometimes our hearts squeeze with excitement or love or breathtaking longing for what once was. Or might have been. Or may still be. And yet the reality of it is always different than our vision because once we have ‘it’ or once we get ‘there’, our perspective changes yet again. That's where the premise of 'I'll be happy when' comes from. If we think like that, we'll never actually ever be happy because it's always something we're striving for. Something we’re trying to attain. Something we don’t yet have.

I know I’m happy now. Right where I am. Happiness isn’t something I find elusive and mysterious. It’s not something that I’m always seeking. Because it’s already beside me.

Could I be happier with a partner?

I think that would bring a different type of happiness to my life – and an entirely new set of challenges (to say the least!) - but not having a partner certainly doesn’t take anything away from the high level of contentment I feel most of the time.

And I know from experience that love seems to find me when I least expect it. And often at a time that is rather inconvenient. But find me it does. And no doubt it will happen again.

Who am I to argue with Love’s timing!

I often read about love that moves me to tears. I adore love so it doesn’t take much for something or someone to touch my heart. But this is something different than your typical love story. This is about letting go of love with a heart filled with love. This letter is written by a man to his wife of 20 years, on the day they got divorced.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/michael-cheshire/an-open-letter-to-my-now-_b_5876984.html?ncid=fcbklnkushpmg00000063

Imagine if we could all end relationships with this much love and respect for our partners?

Love made me buy something else recently too. A wooden bench that will soon take up residence on my front deck. It has been lovingly made out of an old picnic table and painted blue as that was my Mum’s favourite colour.

Did I ‘need’ a bench? No.

Did I want to do something special to honour my Mum. Absolutely.

Does my heart squeeze each time I read the words etched on the plaque I’ve had made for her? Every Single Time. Because the plaque is filled with words which embody the life she lived.

It squeezes because the plaque needs to exist at all.

It squeezes because I would rather she could sit on the bench – any bench - beside me.

It squeezes because I wish I’d loved her a little better while she was here. I wish I’d looked past her fears and her vulnerabilities and gravitated more toward the immense love she held for me.

There is no such thing as small love.

Mum died three years ago today.

The sun has risen and set more than one thousand times since I last sat by her side. As I gently held my hand over her heart as it took one last beat on this earth. Just as she would have felt for my first few heartbeats when I was born.

Can there be a more patient love than that which is simply present as another soul breathes?

As I was born with a tireless desire to rustle through the debris to unearth the positives in every situation, I do my best to turn sad occasions into happier ones. Not necessarily happy ones, but simply happier than they would otherwise be. So I send another mother a Mother’s Day gift each year to ease the pain of not being able to send something to my Mum. And today I started another new tradition. I took three beautiful bunches of roses to the Buderim Crematorium and Gardens and I placed the flowers one at a time near the plaques devoid of flowers. I cried the entire time but it did fill my heart with a Kind of Happiness.

I walked around the gardens and read the messages of love forever etched onto plaques slightly tarnished by time. My heart squeezed as I saw two toy cars beside a boy who was stillborn. Toys he would never play with but which someone felt compelled to give. A ceramic pair of dance shoes sat patiently near a little girl who died aged six.

I posted the following ‘Karen’s Thought for Today’ on Facebook sometime last year and I thought it appropriate to share it here now:

Imagine if we had the opportunity to say goodbye to the people we love - they leave us, seemingly forever - and we truly feel the absence of them in our lives, we realise just how much we miss them and how much we value them and how we are eternally grateful they were woven into the colourful threads of our lives. And most of all, we deeply feel how much love we have for them residing in every corner and available space of our shattered hearts. Then imagine how we would feel if they were miraculously returned to our lives. How different we would be, how different our relationships would be, how awesomely different humanity would be. We think we know the impact loss will have on our lives but we don't until it actually happens. The reality of it is so very different - so much more brutal and heart-wrenchingly final - than anything our imaginations can possibly create. My wish is that we somehow find a way to feel that difference while our special someones are still here... so we appreciate them more, we accept them fully for who they are - right now, today - and we love them far beyond our capacity to love.

Mother and child - now that’s a forever kind of love.

Joyful hugs,

Karen xo

'I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving but this, in which there is no I or you, so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand, so intimate that when I fall asleep your eyes close.' Pablo Neruda, 100 Love Sonnets

10 Comments

Have you ever cheated on your tax return?

21/9/2014

6 Comments

My Dad is The Most Honest Man on the Planet.

Seriously.

My grandmother owned a unit in the same street as Mum and Dad for many years and after she passed away, Dad didn’t want to rent the unit out so it was empty for a year or so. Apparently, one of the conditions of his insurance policy was that the unit not be vacant for more than ninety days at a time.

So every three months, my gorgeous Dad would take a camp stretcher over to the unit and spend the night there.

Most people would just say they'd stayed there if they ever needed to put a claim in, but my Dad actually did make sure the unit wasn’t empty for more than ninety days in a row so he’d never have to lie about it.

How utterly wonderfully and refreshingly honest is that?

I’m not sure I would ever go to that extent but I can honestly say I’ve never claimed anything on my tax return that I haven’t been entitled to.

Except by default.

Because I once had A Very Dodgy Tax Accountant.

When my ex-husband and I moved to Brisbane from Melbourne in 1998, our accountant told us that we could claim the cost of the move because I would be working for the same law firm.

I questioned him about this at the time and said ‘but it’s my choice to move, they haven’t transferred me or anything’. But Very Dodgy Accountant Dude insisted we could claim the cost of our move, which was about $3,500.

So we did.

Even though it didn’t feel quite right.

Fast forward a few years and I received a Very Official Looking Letter from the Australian Taxation Office letting me know that Dodgy Accountant Dude was in fact Very Very Dodgy (you don’t say ATO!) and he was under investigation for Doing Dodgy Stuff. The Very Unjoyful Letter also told me that I would be notified if any of my previous tax returns were going to be audited.

Oh my goodness.

Oh my goodness.

Oh my goodness.

I was divorced by this stage and really couldn’t afford to be paying back thousands and thousands of dollars. For about two months, I was slightly concerned every time I checked the letterbox but thankfully I never heard from the Tax Office again.

But it was a very good reminder to never claim anything I’m not entitled to. If it doesn’t feel right, then it’s probably not the right thing to be doing. Even if Someone Official tells you it is.

Always trust your instincts and do what aligns with your values rather than someone else’s.

And apart from anything else, surely it’s not great money karma to receive money that isn’t actually rightfully yours!

I know it’s a little ironic that my greatest lesson in honesty came from Dodgy Accountant Dude rather than my Dad but sometimes we have to learn by experience rather than being led by example.

My Dad was born in 1931 so he remembers growing up during the Depression in Melbourne.

In 1932 the unemployment rate reached 32 percent. The impact that must have had on society is unimaginable to most of us born in the last 50 years.

Dad had to leave school when he was 14 as his father had a heart attack and could no longer work. He is such an intelligent man and it’s such a shame he never got to finish his education.

He would have been capable of Many Amazing Things. Including Running The Country, which is what I thought he would have been good at when I was a little girl.

I may be slightly biased but Dad would have made a wonderful Prime Minister. Although I’m not sure how he would have gone having to wear all those Suits and Ties.

Dad grew up truly valuing money and at 83 years young, he still hates wasting money and won’t buy anything unless He Actually Needs It.

Dad truly doesn’t even begin to understand why someone would want to buy a new TV or a new shirt or a new car unless they Need to buy them.

If you saw The Items of Choice in his wardrobe you might think he Needs some new clothes. But he honestly doesn't care. I've never in my life met anyone less affected by marketing or What People Think.

Last Christmas I picked Dad up from the airport and he had one of those red, white and blue stripey bags in his hand.

Yes, the ones that people generally use for storing things in around the house.

I used one to take my clothes to the laundry mat when I lived in London 25 years ago.

Most people don’t take them on planes.

But my Dad did.

He was dumbfounded when I laughed and shook my head when I saw him. ‘What's wrong with it?’ he said when I explained what I was laughing at.

I have to admit – and I realise how terrible this sounds - that the only thing 'wrong' with it in my eyes is what other people may have thought about him.

But it didn't bother him in the slightest so I had absolutely no right or reason to be bothered by it.

There is the slightest of chances that I haven’t inherited my Dad’s money savviness or bewilderment About Buying Things You Don’t Need.

Some examples of this include (but are definitely not limited to):

Exhibit 1: Buying $1,000 worth of shares a few months before the stock market crash of 1987. Oops.

Exhibit 2: Selling my house after getting divorced and then paying more for a unit than what I got for the house - despite the fact My Grand Plan was to have a smaller mortgage on one wage. Nope, that didn’t happen. But I must say, that unit turned out to be The Best Investment Ever.

Exhibit 3: The more than 100 unread books I have at home.

Exhibit 4: The 46 dresses hanging in my wardrobe. If you missed my blog about All Things Dress-like, click here http://www.theyearofmore.com/blog/do-women-really-need-dresses

Exhibit 5: The four coats I purchased in New York. Yes, to wear on the Sunshine Coast. Here’s a link to that post too http://www.theyearofmore.com/blog/how-many-coats-does-a-woman-in-queensland-need

Exhibit 6: And clearly the fact that this blog exists is evidence in itself.

But what fun I’m having exploring all of this!!!

And I’m definitely closer to Dad’s ethos on money than I’ve ever been before.

He would be so proud.

If I were to ever actually tell him about the blog of course.

But that would mean telling him about the 46 dresses and the 100 unread books.

Image from ijaddancecompany.com

Dad has only ever bought One Thing on credit in his entire life – the house he built with Mum almost fifty years ago.

My gorgeous Dad building the garage. It's quite possible those clothes are still in his wardrobe.

Everything else he has paid cash for.

Everything. Cars. Furniture. Holidays. Absolutely everything.

He’s never possessed a credit card or cheque book and doesn’t even have an ATM card. He has a passbook account and goes into the branch to withdraw money when he needs it. It’s so 'old school', which I absolutely adore.

In complete contrast to Dad, my bank once rang me to let me know there had been an ‘unusually high amount of activity on my credit card’ and when I’d finally stopped laughing and snorting on the other end of the phone, I blurted out:

Needless to say, that’s something else I haven’t shared with my dear Dad.

Thank goodness he doesn't have access to the Internet!

Another story I haven’t shared with him happened when I went to live in London in 1989. I had travelled around the United States and Europe for two months and upon arriving in London, after paying my bond and a month’s rent on a flat, I was left with 14 pound in the bank. So one night we all went out for dinner and I had the Brilliant Idea of putting the entire bill on my credit card and then everyone else would give me cash.

This is clearly not a financial decision my Dad would have approved of.

So the plan was going well until the waitress came over to say my credit card had been declined. Oh dear. Not only did I end up with no cash but I also owed one of my new flat mates £10!!!

It’s Not Quite The Wisest Plan I’ve Ever Had.

Sometimes I worry that Dad doesn’t spend money on what would make him more comfortable as I’ve been trying to talk him into getting ducted heating throughout the house for two winters now. His standard response is ‘I get by okay’. He has a fantastic heater in the living room but his bedroom is absolutely freezing in winter and I just want him to not have to worry about freezing his little footsies off.

So far I’ve lost the Ducted Heating Debate but I’m going to keep trying. I’ll wear him down eventually. In a loving way of course!

Last weekend, during our weekly Sunday night Phone Joy, I decided to ask him about his Bucket List. After he retired, he and Mum did lots of travelling within Australia but neither of them had ever left the country, so I asked him if there is anywhere in the world he would like to visit as I’d be happy to accompany him.

Do you know what he said?

He wants to go to the Flowerdale Hotel for lunch.

The Flowerdale Hotel is a pub 100kms north of Melbourne that we frequently visited when my brother and I were growing up. Lots of happy times were spent at the Flowerdale.

Image from flowerdalehotel.com

How adorable is his Beautifully Basic Bucket List?

He doesn’t want to visit the Eiffel Tower or New York - with or without his Stripey Bag.

He wants to go and eat at a pub that is filled with love and happy memories.

He’s quite a unique man my Dad.

I just love him to bits.

And I wish I were more like him in many ways.

Perhaps The Year of More really is getting me a little bit closer to that goal.

What's something you've learnt from your parents?

Joyful hugs,

Karen xo

‘You don't really understand human nature unless you know why a child on a merry-go-round will wave at his parents every time around - and why his parents will always wave back.’ William D. Tammeus

6 Comments

Have you ever murdered a teddy bear?

4/9/2014

2 Comments

I bought a new kettle last week.

Isn’t she pretty?

My old one was making funny (read strange, rather than amusing) noises and I felt our relationship was nearing its end. So I decided to buy a new one before Experiencing Yet Another Kitchen Disaster – keep reading and all will become clear.

The noises were quite possibly caused by Me Not Taking Very Good Care of My Old Kettle. Yes, I may be guilty of ongoing kettle abuse I’m afraid. You see, I don’t drink coffee and I only drink tea on the rarest of occasions. About now, you’re probably starting to wonder what I use a kettle for at all aren’t you? Well, apart from obviously needing one for when I have Coffee and Tea Drinking People over (or making jelly as I do like the occasional Frog in a Pond), earlier this year I was reading an article espousing the benefits of drinking warm water with lemon juice squeezed into it, so I thought I’d give it a go. I’ve noticed some really positive changes so I now do it every morning.

I’ve been having monthly massages for the last 15 years to help prevent migraines but last year I was getting a migraine once a month (thanks to my hormones… and trust me when I say there is no such thing as Migraine Joy) but since I’ve been drinking the lemon water, I haven’t had a migraine for six months which has been wonderful. I’m sure it’s not just due to the lemon juice as I’m also taking some natural tablets to help keep my hormones under control (as well as still having the massages) but I’ve definitely noticed other benefits as well so I’m going to continue to support the Lemon Growers of Queensland.

So since February, I’ve been using my kettle Every Single Day and as I hate wasting water and electricity, I only put enough water in the kettle to fill a bit more than one glass.

Apparently kettles don’t like that very much.

Apparently you’re supposed to fill the water up past a certain point.

And my conspiracy theory is that Kettle Bigwigs are in cahoots with Electricity Big wigs.

Anyway, what isn’t needy or high maintenance is My Fabulous Lemon Squeezer. Isn’t he gorgeous? (Do not ask why the kettle is female and the lemon squeezer is male, some things just cannot be explained.)

Lemon squeezer modelling shoot. No airbrushing required.

I bought him for $5 at Kmart and he has quickly become my favourite non-electrical gadget in the kitchen.

Although my garlic press is also pretty impressive.

And I do hold my egg rings in high regard.

A few weekends ago I was shopping with a friend (I can still look and help others to buy Lovely Things!) and I saw the cutest heart shaped egg rings and was Very Tempted to buy them. But, as I already have perfectly adequate – albeit, non-heart creating shaped - egg rings, I resisted the urge.

Another The Year of More success.

By the way, a slice of capsicum makes a yummy edible egg ring.

Made by Karen Maree Young without setting fire to anything.

Getting back to the kettle.

See, I told you they’re needy.

I kid you not, I have used a kettle more in the last six months than I have in the last 10 years.

Without blowing it up. Melting it. Or setting off any safety switches.

Because, sadly, I have a bit of a history with Blowing Things Up. Melting Things. And Setting Off Safety Switches.

Electrical Appliance Disaster Confession No. 1:

A few years ago someone gave me a very cute teddy bear shaped wheat bag. Ted was red with white piping around his edges. What I discovered when searching for images of teddy bear shaped wheat bags is that there are some seriously scary looking teddy bear shaped wheat bags out there.

And...

But my Ted was very cute indeed.

Was being the operative word I’m afraid.

Yes, I confess that I murdered Ted.

Well, technically I set him on fire.

Drowned him.

And then dismembered him.

It was a tragedy of massive proportions.

I was one of Those Silly People who don’t follow the simple rules written on Large Pieces of Paper accompanying such purchases. You know, the Large Pieces of Paper which warn you Not To Do Certain Things?

One night I had a sore shoulder and Ted was doing a wonderful job of easing my aches and pains. But I popped him back in the microwave for another few minutes of zapping when he was still warm (one of the Things You Shouldn’t Do with a wheat bag according to the Large Piece of Paper).

And he literally burst into flames.

So after the safety switch went off in the unit I was living in at the time - I really should never be allowed to live anywhere without a fully functioning safety switch - I ran to the microwave to see the flames ferociously taking hold of Ted’s right arm.

I quickly opened the microwave door and grabbed the jug Ted was sitting in - and in My First Wild Burst of Panic, I put the jug under the tap and sort of drowned him and then My Second Wild Burst of Panic took hold and I grabbed Ted’s non-burning arm and swung him around the room.

His arm came off in my hand.

Little pieces of wet singed wheat flew everywhere.

Everywhere.

There wasn’t an inch of kitchen floor that wasn’t completely covered in what had once been Ted.

I have only bought boring rectangular shaped wheat bags since then. I just couldn’t bear (no pun intended) the thought of murdering another cute animal-shaped one.

So you’re probably thinking that I should have packed up and moved to live in a tent after I’d slaughtered poor Ted.

But no, apparently there were further Electrical Disasters awaiting me that I needed to experience.

Electrical Appliance Disaster Confession No. 2:

One night I was cooking a piece of chicken on my George Foreman Health Grill and don’t ask me why but I never fully trusted that George would cook things evenly on both sides – no offence George - so I would always turn the chicken over half way through. But this time, I neglected to move the cord completely out of the way of the hotplate when I closed the lid.

And after the safety switch kicked in yet again, I discovered George Foreman’s cord had caught fire.

And my chicken was a tad overcooked.

At that point, perhaps going to live with the Amish wouldn’t have been such a bad idea.

Electrical Appliance Disaster Confession No. 3:

Yes, there’s another one.

A different house this time though. And no, I didn’t relocate because my previous abode burnt to the ground.

One sunny Sunday morning I was cleaning the kitchen.

'How can this possibly be an electrical disaster?’, I hear you ask?

Wellllll…

My kitchen was quite small so I would generally move everything to the dining table while I cleaned the benches, but on this particular day the table was covered in a creative project of some description so I moved my food processor onto the stovetop.

Which was obviously turned off.

At that moment at least.

Anyhoo, I must have knocked the knob and turned the hotplate on and then trooped off to clean the bathroom while the kitchen benches dried.

I came back out 20 minutes later to find the bottom of the food processor melted onto the hotplate.

I’ve lived without a food processor since then.

I have, of course, owned electrical appliances that haven’t been blown up or melted or set fire to.

I really have.

Although, I’m sure by now you understand why I’m rather hesitant to buy a slow cooker.

And it’s fairly obvious why this isn’t a blog about cooking ☺

There may have also been an incident involving a Bunsen burner in high school science class but thankfully the details are a little bit fuzzy after all this time…

I have, however, had some very successful long-term relationships with a dustbuster or two.

I have long hair that seems to Not Want to Stay on My Head so every morning I use a high voltage dustbuster to vacuum up the Little Hairy Escapees covering my bathroom floor.

Karen’s Electrical Appliance Tip No. 1: the lower voltage dustbusters are absolute crap; invest in a good one. And yes, I do realise after what I’ve just disclosed, you may not see me as the most reliable source of Electrical Appliance Tips but trust me on this one.

So my dustbuster and I had been cohabitating happily for a few years when all of a sudden he decided he wanted out of our relationship.

He just stopped working.

During the The Year of More.

And although I stipulated in My Very First Blog Post that I could replace electrical appliances if they broke, (http://www.theyearofmore.com/blog/so-whats-the-year-of-more-all-about), I didn’t really want to spend the money on a Good One and I didn’t want to waste money on a Crap One.

And as synchronicity would have it, a week or so earlier I just happened to read an article about the feng shui benefits of sweeping. It was more specifically referring to sweeping outside your front door but I decided that sweeping my bathroom floor every morning would work just as well.

So I spent $2 on a dustpan and brush for the bathroom.

Sweeping may not seem very exciting and that’s the whole point - as well as being a way of bringing positive feng shui energy into your home, it’s also one of those mundane activities which can lead to more mindfulness.

The process of bending down to pick up a dustpan and then spending a quiet minute or two brushing up all those Little Hairy Escapees into a neat little creepy hair-filled pile, is something which brings me completely into The Moment every morning.

My dustbuster activity used to be noisy and over with in about 15 seconds but achieving the same result with a dustpan and small brush is a completely different experience.

I went to the School of Philosophy in Brisbane almost every week for four years and we often spoke about being mindful while doing everyday tasks – washing the dishes, brushing your teeth or locking the door. These are little things that actually make a big difference.

Being present helps to slow down our minds.

It helps us to focus.

It helps to eliminate stress.

It helps to increase self-awareness.

It helps us to remember.

Do you know why we ponder whether we’ve locked the door or turned the iron off? Because these are tasks we perform mechanically without really thinking about them. If you were mindfully doing the ironing, you would never stop to think about whether you’ve turned the iron off or not. Because you would remember doing it.

Imagine how different things would be on the road if drivers were more mindful. People would stop dying needlessly.

Imagine how different our relationships would be if we were more mindful of our actions and our words. Being mindful prevents some of the knee-jerk reactions we often run with.

And let’s face it, if I’d been more mindful, the aforementioned wheat bag, health grill and food processor may have all lived much longer and happier inanimate lives.

I would also like to share this story… it’s about a dog who melted a laptop which was left sitting on a stovetop. I kid you not.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2014/08/31/dog-turns-on-stove_n_5743774.html?ncid=fcbklnkushpmg00000022

Clearly it can happen to anyone.

Be careful. Be mindful. Be your fabulously unique self.

Joyful hugs,

Karen xo

‘Mindfulness is simply being aware of what is happening right now without wishing it were different; enjoying the pleasant without holding on when it changes (which it will); being with the unpleasant without fearing it will always be this way (which it won’t).’ James Baraz

2 Comments

Have you ever been dumped… by a pen pal?

15/8/2014

4 Comments

Being dumped is hard.

But being dumped by a pen pal, well that is simply one of life’s cruel fates.

And what are you supposed to do? Write back to them using CAPITALS and an excessive amount of exclamation points!!! to let them know Just How Horrible they are to stop writing to you? Which then gives them yet Another Opportunity to ignore you completely?!! And quite possibly also provides them with justification for deciding to stop writing to you in the first place…

Back when I was a young girl – perhaps 11 or 12 - I saw an ad for pen pals in an American teen magazine and I begged Mum to let me write to one of them.

I was sooooo excited to write to a girl my age who lived across the ocean. A girl who would become my friend forever (clearly, I had rather high expectations). A girl who was one step closer to Scott Baio than I was. (No judgement please, I was young and impressionable and had a Serious Crush on Chachi from Happy Days).

The desk in my room had a map of the world on top of it and I would sit there happily scribbly down my thoughts that would be sent in a plane to the Other Side of the World! And going to buy airmail envelopes, well, that was just about as exciting as life could possibly get at that age.

I was going to Send My Words to the Northern Hemisphere so Someone Else could read them. Amazing.

Or perhaps not so amazing from her perspective.

We wrote a few times and then nothing.

She just simply stopped writing to me.

Nada. Zip. Zilch. Not a scrap of Letterbox Joy to be found.

I was harshly and in my opinion, unfairly, dumped by my pen pal.

I was devastated when Kim Patterson…

… suddenly stopped writing to me.

Oh the shame of it all.

What could I have possibly written about at such a young age to offend her or to have made her Not Want to Write To Me Any Longer?

I've been rejected a number of times in my life but to be rejected for My Words, that's a very deep blow to the very essence of what makes me Me. And yes, you'd think someone as outspoken and quirky as I, would be used to having people react to my words, but perhaps I didn't quite have the requisite armour in place at the age of eleven.

I never did find out why Kim Patterson, Terribly Bad Pen Pal stopped writing to me but one of the many life lessons I’ve learnt since then, is that what you think, suspect or imagine is happening for someone else, is Usually Completely Wrong so it probably had nothing to do with me or My Words at all.

But it's so hard to not take things personally when you're eleven and are super excited about making a new friend. Especially one who lives far far away and who might know Scott Baio.

I am willing to concede that perhaps my passionate commitment to our newly formed relationship was too much for her. I can't remember the actual content of my letters of course but there's the slightest of chances I may have mentioned how awesome it would be to go to America to meet Kim some day (perhaps I dared to mention an actual timeframe in my first letter, who knows?) and yes, there's a very high likelihood that Scott Baio’s name may have been jotted down on those lined pages quite early on.

Quite possibly Kim Patterson was simply looking for a non-quirky, garden-variety type pen pal and I wasn't quite what she was expecting. I suspect a lot of people in my life have felt that way actually J

An old love of mine once commented that the letters I wrote to him were 'kind of crazy'. Yes, yes they were. Because I usually write with the teeniest tiniest of tiny filters in place, particularly where Matters of the Heart are concerned.

Clearly, Kim Patterson has left deep scars which only decades of Happy Letterbox Joy experiences have been able to heal.

Letterbox Joy is quite simply one of the Most Delightful Joys Ever and I have decided part of My Mission in Life is to share the absolute delight of Letterbox Joy throughout the world. I haven’t quite figured out how to do that just yet but I’m working on it.

And after a few decades of healing through Letterbox Joy Therapy, this year I finally felt ready to make that commitment again.

Yes, I have a new pen pal. (Take that Kim Patterson, Terribly Bad Pen Pal!!!!!)

But the utter devastation of Kim Patterson’s callous actions have made my latest pen pal journey all that much sweeter.

Because I obviously couldn’t just rush into a long-term, committed relationship like this without giving it serious consideration.

What if it happened again?

I simply couldn’t bear it.

But I needn’t have worried.

As my new pen pal so gorgeously and eloquently pointed out in Her First Official Pen Pal Documentation to Me – we had loved each other for 3,877 days prior to Taking This Next Important Step in our relationship.

You simply can't rush these things.

Official Evidence of How Awesome My New Pen Pal is

Are you getting the feeling My New Pen Pal shares some of my nerdy traits?

This next important step in our 3,877 day friendship came about because earlier this year I couldn’t resist buying Very Cute Notebooks from Typo (one of my favourite stationery stores - now that I’m doing The Year of More, I just drop in there to visit The Cute Things which is rather a large feat for me as cute stationery is one of my greatest temptations. I did however buy five pens for $5 there last night. Pretty coloured pens to write on cards with. Did I need five? Perhaps not, but if two would have cost me $4, well that's a no brainer isn't it?).

After I'd bought them, I thought what on earth am I going to do with five Very Cute Notebooks?

So I wrote to my friend in The Very Cute Notebook covered in Dalmatians asking if she’d like to be my pen pal and thankfully she said yes. My friend’s name is Lauren (or LC as I affectionately refer to her) - I’ve used her real name as opposed to the Sally and Tom fake names I usually use because Lauren has given me permission to publicly out her as My Official Pen Pal.

She’s clearly a very brave soul. And I love her to bits.

Rocking our Madonna headsets at a Starlight event in 2004

Minus the headsets at LC’s Celebration of Love Joy Day (aka Wedding Day) in 2012

So now we send the notebook back and forth and it is simply one of the best ideas I’ve ever had. Seriously. LC and I live 1,100 kms away from each other so we catch up via phone and email but we are both absolutely loving writing to each other. When I emailed LC to ask if I could write about her in this blog she wrote ‘I posted our book to you today and I can't WAIT for you to get it. So much joy in giving it, as well as receiving it.’

My letterbox got rather excited after reading The Dalmatians are on their way back to The Tree House.

We fill up lined pages with heartfelt thoughts, messy handwriting (mostly mine), drawings, quotes and unfixable typos – in the absence of spell-check and auto-correct, incorrect words are lovingly crossed out and written again. It’s very Old School, which I adore.

Finally, at 46, my pen pal scars have healed. This one's a keeper.

I can’t even begin to tell you how excited I get when the A4 sized envelope containing The Dalmatians arrives in my letterbox – it’s a childlike excitement (see what you stole from me Kim Patterson, Terribly Bad Pen Pal!!!). I know that envelope is so completely filled with joy and love and hugs and friendship. I leave it unopened as I have dinner and wash the dishes and then, and only then, do I sit down to open it – to spend time with My Friend LC because that’s exactly what it’s like. To see her handwriting is like having Lauren Hugs jump off the page.

I have a goal to improve my handwriting because I basically type everything these days – apart from notes at work and shopping lists because that would be nerdily weird even for me - so hopefully this will help. I know LC will be hoping it will help as it will make her Letterbox Joy experience that much more enjoyable if she can actually read what I’ve scribbled.

My love of Letterbox Joy really took off in 2010 when I sold my house. I had pages and pages of return address labels which I wanted to make use of before I moved - as you know, I’m very passionate about inanimate objects having every opportunity to fulfill their purpose in life. But that was a lot of labels to use up in a short space of time. So a friend at work (hey HJ ☺) suggested I write to people.

Lots and lots and lots of people. So that’s exactly what I did.

I wrote The Very First Letterbox Joy Day Letter and sent it out with one of Louise Hay’s beautifully inspirational cards for each person (chosen randomly... the cards not the people, I know all the people). And I had such a marvelously nerdy nerd time doing it that I decided to do it every year. And although I send it in December, it’s really got nothing to do with Christmas and some years I don’t even mention Christmas! But the letter is my way of celebrating friendship, love, life, home, joy and words. Oh how I adore words and the power they have to connect us, to move us, to comfort us, to entertain us and to inspire us.

The first year I sent my letter to 63 friends and last year I sent The Fourth Annual Letterbox Joy Letter to 97 letterboxes around the world so it’s quite the Letterbox Joy activity that’s for sure!

I absolutely love sending it and each year I’m amazed at how many friends let me know how appropriate their Louise Hay card was. Mine is always really spot on as well.

2013 Letterbox Joy Day Mail Out… sooooo much nerdy fun!

As you can imagine, it also costs quite a lot to put it together - stamps, paper, labels, envelopes, printing the letters and buying two boxes of Louise Hay cards. But it brings me the hugest amount of joy so I shall definitely be doing a letter this year, despite my The Year of More status.

This year I volunteered to do a ‘Pay it Forward’ challenge on Facebook, which has been a delightful thing to be part of. Throughout the year I will surprise five friends (who have also volunteered to participate) with some Letterbox Joy and it’s been a huge amount of fun making cards and buying little gifts to send to each person. I’ve sent two so far and the third surprise is waiting patiently on my kitchen table for me to wrap it and send off in the mail. I actually believe Letterbox Joy has magical powers because it’s amazing how many times it arrives At Just The Right Time.

I know the Letterbox Joy I receive usually does.

From the official Pay it Forward Joy Day card collection

I also believe that Letterbox Joy makes it easier for people to tell someone how they feel. I completely understand the ‘secret admirer’ aspect to Valentine’s Day. I remember receiving a gorgeous card one year signed by My Secret Admirer and it was absolutely thrilling and romantic and not even slightly stalkerish, despite the fact it was hand-delivered to my letterbox at home. Okay, so it was slightly stalkerish. But it was beautiful. Which surely cancels out the stalkerish-ness of it?

There’s an element of safety in expressing something in words - admitting a fear, delivering some news, sharing excitement or joy, expressing love or sorrow or regret. For some people it’s incredibly difficult to do that verbally, but The Written Word – those inky flourishes which have the capacity to convey so much – allows us to say it without our voices shaking or without having to worry about how someone will react in the moment. It also lets the other person sit with the news or emotion without being expected to respond immediately.

I never, not even once, heard my parents say ‘I love you’ but they always wrote 'all my love' on cards to each other. From a very young age I loved peering into those cards and seeing Love sitting there in the form of unique little squiggles – an insight into the world of love they shared which was particular to them as a couple.

I had never heard my Dad say those words out loud until after Mum died. He now says it every time we say goodbye on the phone. And every single time, my heart sings, because whether it's using written or verbal words or hugs or tears or a chocolate cake made by hand, saying I Love You is always, always special.

I often wonder if he and Mum said it in private to each other. I hope so. I hope he doesn't spend his days wishing he'd said it. When he says 'I love you' to me it has a newness to it, as though that particular string of words is quite foreign to him. I hope I’m wrong. I'd like to believe it was just something they kept private.

It’s a dear friend’s birthday today (Happy Birthday Joy Day Beautiful Girl) and I can’t even remember how it came about, but a year or two ago, we decided to break with tradition so we now send each other a birthday card on Some Random Day of The Year rather than on our birthdays. And the first time one arrived I just laughed out loud at the randomness of it. If your birthday is in March, receiving a birthday card in the mail in October is as unexpected as it gets!

Random or ‘Just Because’ Letterbox Joy is one of my favourite kinds. I recently sent a friend sticky notes with spots and flowers on them because I know she loves spots and flowers and a couple of weeks ago I sent a Wagon Wheel to a friend who loves Wagon Wheels.

Just this morning, I received a beautiful card from a friend in the United Kingdom. The words on the card and the reason she chose that particular card made me cry, as did the words she so beautifully shared inside. She could have easily sent an email or Facebook message (especially since no chocolatey treats were involved) but instead she took the time and spent the money on sending Letterbox Joy. And as usual, it Made My Day.

In the (almost) words of Clint Eastwood…

Send them a piece of your heart in the mail. Figuratively speaking of course.

There is one last piece of Letterbox Joy I wish to share with you…

‘Dear Kim Patterson,

Thank you for instilling a deep abiding passion for Letterbox Joy in me.

I sincerely hope your life is filled with love and joy and words which touch your heart. And people who write back to you. May your life always be filled with people who write back to you.

Hugs,

Karen
Aged 46, Sunshine Coast, Australia’

(See what you’ve missed out on for 35 years Kim Patterson!!!)

Remember lovely peeps, a hug in an envelope is the next best thing to an in-person hug.

Say hi to your letterbox for me!

Joyful hugs,

Karen xo

‘Harry picked it up and stared at it, his heart twanging like a giant elastic band. No one, ever, in his whole life, had written to him. Who would? He had no friends, no other relatives — he didn’t belong to the library, so he’d never even got rude notes asking for books back. Yet here it was, a letter, addressed so plainly there could be no mistake:

Mr. H. Potter
The Cupboard under the Stairs
4 Privet Drive
Little Whinging
Surrey’

J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone

4 Comments

Have you ever taken a drop in pay in exchange for greater job happiness?

31/7/2014

2 Comments

I taught myself to touch type when I was ten years old.

Yes, my journey down Nerdy Lane started quite early on in life.

I was given the choice of a bike or a typewriter for my 10th birthday. My brother had gotten a bike for his 10th birthday. Surprisingly enough, I don’t remember a typewriter being an option for him. One nerdy introvert in the family was probably enough.

To this day I still don’t know how to ride a bike properly. But boy have I had a lifelong love affair with The Written Word.

Oh my goodness, that’s him, that’s him!!!! (Well, it’s a photo I Googled, but it COULD be him).

I can’t even begin to tell you how many delightfully wonderful introverted hours I spent tapping away with Ollie - he’s an inanimate object so yes, of course he had a name - inside my blissful little creative bubble. We made up stories and plays that made no sense. We wrote letters. We typed up my book of 101 Elephant Jokes and endless newspaper articles (nerdy columns were our specialty… it’s all about the spacing folks!).

I can still remember the feeling of slowly releasing the Paper Release Lever (the Official Technical Term) and the sound of putting a clean white sheet of paper through the roller. And then clicking the silver bar* across the front of the paper back into place. Followed by a huge sigh of contentment.

* The Official Technical Term is ‘Bail Rod’ but I doubted you’d know what that was… my sincere apologies if I’ve just insulted any equally nerdy old-fashioned typewriter lovers. (I am secretly hoping I’ve offended at least one person reading this… please reveal yourself so I know I’m not alone in my skip down Nerdy Lane).

I would regularly and carefully lean forward, my hair tickling Ollie’s cold metal casing, to unjam keys that had become stuck together in my eagerness to put my thoughts down on paper.

And ribbon changes, how I LOVED those. The anticipation of forever embedding an ocean of My Words onto a pristine new ribbon. We’re talking sublime nerdy territory here.

Seriously, check out the following instructions for ribbon changing… it’s like an excerpt from Fifty Shades of Grey for Nerds. As I read it slowly, it’s as though Liam Neeson [insert sexy-voiced man or woman of your choice] is whispering sweet nerdy nothings into my ear. Another sigh of contentment.

Admit it, you’re itching to read more of the User Manual now aren’t you? Come on, I won’t tell anyone…

Ollie was such a great companion and with his patience and guidance, I taught myself to touch type. Yes, at the age of ten. That probably isn’t such a large feat nowadays given children are learning to program DVD recorders at the age of three, but back then, it was something I was extremely proud of. Anyone - okay, almost anyone - can ride a bike but not everyone can touch type when they’re in primary school!

By the time I started Typing Class in Year 10 at high school, I could type fifty words a minute without ever looking at the keys. Which by the way, wouldn’t have helped anyway as The Typing Teacher was so intent on us learning to type that she put liquid paper on all the keys so no-one could peak at them! I’m sure this is an official form of typewriter abuse.

I would never have done such a despicable thing to Ollie.

I’m still not sure if my typing ability impressed or annoyed The Typing Teacher. Let’s face it, it did allow me more time to distract everyone else in the class. Something I spent quite a lot of time doing throughout high school, despite my nerdy straight-A student status. I always suspected the teacher felt ripped off that I didn’t need to look at her liquid paper-graffiti-covered keys anyway. You’d think she’d be grateful it was one less teenager to teach.

So my ability to type was the one defining factor in the First Tentative Steps Toward The Career of My Dreams.

Oh, and the fact I really had no idea what I wanted to do with my life.

After much searching and more rejection than I care to remember, I got a job in the typing pool of a large stockbroking firm in Melbourne.

When I say pool, I should point out there were only two of us, so it was rather more of a puddle. Just in case you were picturing a room filled with women all lined up in rows tapping away on their typewriters.

It all sounds very Mad Men-esque but it really wasn’t. I worked in the ‘back office’ where, amongst other things, we typed up list after list of the names of people who had bought shares.

Sorry, are you asleep yet?

Clearly, it wasn’t the most exciting or stimulating job but it was a hugely fun environment in which to work and that firm put on The Best Work Parties Ever! You know, the kind of parties where at least one staff member needs to resign out of embarrassment the next day? This was in the late 80s and although it wasn’t quite ‘Wolf of Wall Street’, it was a ridiculously huge amount of fun… until someone had to resign from embarrassment of course. And I’m not kidding; they literally resigned because they were too embarrassed to stay.

Okay, seeing you insist, I’ll share a couple of stories.

Embarrassing Resignation No. 1

Let’s call him Tom… just in case, almost thirty years later, he stumbles across this random blog and decides to sue me for defamation. Tom decided it would be a good idea to remove his pants at the staff Christmas Party. In the middle of a ballroom. On a brightly lit dance floor. Surrounded by 400 of his colleagues. And management. And the partners of the firm. And by remove his pants, I'm talking The Full Monty.

Embarrassing Resignation No. 2

Let’s call her Sally… (I think this actually happened at a later job I had but it still makes for a good example of What Not To Do At A Work Party). Sally was a young secretary who had consumed rather too much alcohol at the Friday night boardroom drinks (a weekly occurrence in most large firms in Melbourne at the time). And while Sally was at her desk collecting her belongings before stumbling home, she threw up on her typewriter and passed out. As you do. A couple of hours later her boss (a partner in the firm) went back to his office to find her asleep on her desk. Being the gentleman he was, he pushed her on her secretarial chair to the hotel adjoining the building we worked in (I’m not making this up) and booked her a room to sleep off her hangover. She was so embarrassed (and quite possibly very unsure how she got to the hotel room) that I don’t think she even came back long enough to resign, she just sort of left a message on someone’s phone and disappeared.

Oh, and that’s not one of those stories where The Writer is actually talking about themselves. I’m not Sally.

Really, I’m not.

I worked at that firm for three years and diligently achieved my yearly goal of Not Doing Anything Embarrassing Enough That I Had To Resign Over, while I saved money to go and live in London.

Three years after leaving high school, my first major career goal was sorted:

I had some fantastic long-term temp jobs during the 18 months I lived in London.

I worked for Bethnal Green Neighbourhood (part of the London Council), which was like living amongst the characters of the TV show ‘EastEnders’. What a delightfully colourful group of people to work with. And they were so fascinated by an Australian Girl (which I always found quite amusing seeing as London was absolutely covered with young Aussie girls at the time).

One lady, quite seriously said to me one day, ‘I didn’t know Australia celebrated Christmas in the middle of the year instead of December’ and I said ‘ummm, we do celebrate Christmas in December’ and she said ‘but they had Christmas lunch on ‘Neighbours’ on TV last night’. Bless her cotton socks! I tried my hardest to keep a straight face as I replied, ‘Oh, I think the episodes are 18 months behind here so that’s why it’s being shown in July’. I think she appreciated the fact I didn’t make fun of her but boy did my flat-mates laugh when I told them that night!

I then had a job temping for a large law firm called Stephenson Harwood who had their own building across from St Paul’s Cathedral. I did various jobs there over a six-month period and one of them involved working for the Graduate Recruitment Officer who recruited all the graduates (err, you may have gotten that from her title…) and part of my role was to show them around London. How cool - I was being paid to go sightseeing! Best Temp Job Ever. The grads thought it was hilarious that a young Aussie girl was showing them around the capital city of their own country.

When I returned to Melbourne from London I got a job as a legal secretary, which was the start of a very long journey of Not Wanting To Be A Legal Secretary.

I always knew I was Destined To Do Something Else. Something which helped people.

A few years later I moved from Melbourne to Brisbane to work for the same law firm and I went from working for the most lovely and down-to-earth man to working for the biggest egomaniac I'd ever met! Which was the best thing that's ever happened to me as that was finally the push I needed to make a change.

But initially, I sadly discovered that my desire, motivation and steadfast belief in My Destiny To Do Something Else didn’t appear to be enough. I met with a lady at a job agency who very bluntly said ‘you’re not going to ever get out of secretarial work because you’re simply not qualified to do anything else!’ Oh, that was so disheartening to hear. I had finally been brave enough to take that First Step Toward Something Else and was quickly told I Wasn’t Good Enough.

Even sadder than that, was that I actually believed her.

Then I used her words to inspire me to prove her wrong.

I got a job at The Smith’s Snackfood Company (where they make chips and Twisties) and I absolutely loved it. It was still a secretarial role but it involved more coordinating and organising and I worked with a fabulous group of people (mostly men) and felt as though I was finally working in The Real World.

And it led me to my career in the not-for-profit sector where I happily remain today.

I still remember sitting on the floor of my unit in Brisbane one Saturday morning in 2001 reading an ad for a job as an ‘Administration/Volunteer Coordinator’ at the Starlight Children’s Foundation and as I read through the criteria for the job I said out loud to myself, ‘I’ve never done that’, ‘I have no experience in that’ and ‘I definitely can’t do that’.

And yet I applied anyway. And it was one of the best decisions of my life.

I got an initial interview with the employment agency and spent an hour talking about what I couldn’t do and she kept nodding and making notes and at the end of the interview, she said ‘that’s one of the most enjoyable interviews I’ve ever done’ and when I asked why, she said ‘because you were so refreshingly honest’. So this particular time, my honesty won out over my skill or experience and she arranged an interview with the Queensland State Manager, who is one of the most fabulously dynamic women I have ever met. That day she saw something in me – the potential to do the job well I guess - and she believed in me more than I believed in myself at that point. And I got the job.

And that was my Very First Experience of Taking Less Money in Exchange for More Job Joy. And what an experience it turned out to be.

To this day, that remains my ‘Dream Job’. Anything after that has been an absolute bonus in my eyes. Working at Starlight for four and a half years was the best work environment I’ve ever experienced – the joy and enthusiasm that people brought to their roles and the fun we had together was just incredible. And we cried too. A bit too often sometimes but at the same time it was comforting to know we were doing something positive for the families we worked with. We all worked so well together and everyone was willing to put in 110% every single day. You don’t find that in many workplaces so we knew just how fortunate we were.

My desk after coming back to work after a holiday. She was nicknamed KDD for obvious reasons.

I then spent four years working at The Wesley Hospital in Brisbane managing the Volunteer Department. If only I’d been writing a blog then ☺ Although, I wouldn’t have been able to share any of the crazy goings on of course, as much as I might have wanted to. Let me just say this, working with more than four hundred volunteers is both the most rewarding and most challenging experience ever.

I knew I was ready to leave that job a year before I actually did but a Rather Large Pay Rise kept me there longer than I should have stayed. It was lovely to have my work acknowledged in that way but it always felt as though I was just putting off the inevitable.

You cannot buy job satisfaction; it’s just not possible.

A year later, I took a Rather Large Drop in Pay to go and work at The Smith Family and I’ve never looked back. I started as their Volunteer Relationships Coordinator and I am now a Program Coordinator working on one of our mentoring programs. I really do adore going to work every day. I love being part of something that evokes change and growth and empowerment in people – adults and young people alike. I am so very grateful to be doing what I’m doing and I will stay working with them for as long as they will have me. I’ve been there almost five years and I’m currently doing my fifth role so it’s also the first workplace I’ve had where I’ve been able to move around and try new things.

So learning to type at the age of ten has taken me on a long windy road of interesting experiences, and some days, as I mindlessly type away at work or at home, it occurs to me that I would quite possibly be capable of typing if I were ever in a coma. I’m not making light of people who have been in comas but if I’m ever unfortunate enough to be in one, please pop a keyboard beneath my hands as I’m fairly certain I will start typing away. Or if you can get your hands on an old Olivetti, that would be just perfect.

I know I could get paid more as an executive assistant back in The Corporate World as I was born to Type and Organise but I also know I was born to Support and Empower so the not-for-profit world is Exactly Where I’m Meant To Be. I find so much joy in the work I do. It feeds my soul. And I adore the challenges it brings and the professional and personal growth I’ve had from the various jobs I’ve done.

And the people I’ve met. I can’t even begin to describe how much I’ve learnt, and continue to learn, from the often quite simple interactions I have with all sorts of fascinating and fabulously unique human beings. Random strangers reach in to squeeze my heart on a regular basis. I just adore connecting with people.

People who give their time as volunteers, people who work in schools and community organisations, people who ring up asking for support who Simply Want To Be Heard, my colleagues who I work with day after day To Make Stuff Happen and the students I work with who make me laugh and who unknowingly inspire me to continue to follow my dreams as they take their first tentative steps toward discovering their own.

I am so very grateful the State Manager of Starlight saw something in me that day that I didn’t quite see or believe in myself at the time. I see it and believe it now and it has been the most enjoyable journey getting from where I was back in 2001, to where I am now. Still without any 'qualification' to speak of Miss Blunt Agency Lady. But what I do have is an abundance of life experience, a set of ears, a desire to learn and grow and a willing heart. Ollie would be ever so proud of how far we’ve come.

It now comes naturally to me To Not Make Job Decisions Based Solely on Money – as long as I have enough money to slowly pay off my mortgage (ever so slowly perhaps!) and to have enough left over to enjoy life through my Joy Creating Indicators, I am a happy little camper.

Money is something which allows us freedom and exploration and most of all, it gives us The Power of Choice, but never having to spend Sunday night dreading work the next day, now that’s priceless.

Joyful hugs,

Karen xo

‘Your work is going to fill a large part of your life, and the only way to be truly satisfied is to do what you believe is great work. And the only way to do great work is to love what you do. If you haven't found it yet, keep looking. Don't settle. As with all matters of the heart, you'll know when you find it. And, like any great relationship, it just gets better and better as the years roll on. So keep looking until you find it. Don't settle.’ Steve Jobs

2 Comments

How many coats does a woman in Queensland need?

15/7/2014

2 Comments

I tested myself with a little shopping adventure last weekend.

I had five things on my list:

To get copies of my New Birth Certificate certified by a JP.
To buy something to wear to a fancy dress party (the theme is ‘hair’).
To buy a black skirt for work.
To buy cards for my Letterbox Joy needs (okay, so they may have stretched into the wants category given the rather large collection of unused cards I already have).
To buy avocados.

My first stop was an Op Shop called ‘Beautiful You’ in Maroochydore. It’s a gorgeous store so I pottered around looking for a dress or top I could wear with boots and leggings (and a slightly ridiculous wig a friend has given me) but I didn’t find anything suitable.

So then I ventured to Sunshine Plaza, my local shopping centre. The volunteer JP hadn’t turned up. Bummer. There is a ridiculous amount of paperwork required after you change your name legally and many of the forms you have to complete are to be accompanied by a certified copy of your change of name document. Yes, this is perhaps the most boring paragraph ever written (even by my nerdy standards) so let’s get back to the shopping-related part of my story.

I’ve been to Sunshine Plaza many times since I started The Year of More on 18 March, but this was the first time I Felt Really Tempted To Buy Clothes. The centre was still decorated with ‘Sale’ signs, which I thought was strange seeing as the end of financial year has been and gone. Remember a time when there were two sales a year? At Christmas and EOFY. How times have changed! One of my favourite shops at Mooloolaba regularly has a ’50% off everything’ sale.

So I slowly wandered around and immersed myself in all The Colour and Texture of Beautiful Things and I did indeed feel the Hand of Temptation guide me in and out of numerous shops – and this temptation resulted in The Purchase of Two Items of Clothing. Oh dear. More about that in a minute.

But mostly I just felt overwhelmed by all the blatant consumerism on show.

It wasn’t as much fun as shopping has been in the past.

I am looking at it all through a different lens now. A more critical lens. A much-needed lens, I can hear my bank manager muttering.

So what were my temptations?

My biggest decision-dilemma was when I saw this in Kmart.

Cute elephants are always going to tempt me.

And it was ‘only’ $10.

But do I need another black top? No, I don’t. Not even one adorned with cute elephants.

So no, this isn’t one of The Two Items of Clothing now residing in my wardrobe.

This also tempted me.

A Very Cute Glasses Case.

For $4.95.

But do I need one? Not so much. I have four pairs of reading glasses. I know, that’s a bit embarrassing isn’t it? Two are proper prescription ones from an optometrist and the other two are cheapies I bought at the onset of my long-sightedness because I didn’t want to admit I actually needed The Real Deal. And it’s just easier to keep one pair in my bag, one next to the bed, one in the kitchen and well, the other pair just kind of floats around the house and magically seems to appear whenever I need them.

For many years I wore glasses and contact lenses for short-sightedness until I paid $4,000 about eight years ago to have Lasik Eye Surgery and it has been worth every single cent. I still remember sitting in the taxi on the way home from my post-surgery appointment the following day and being in awe of the trees outside as I wound the window down. It was as though I’d never seen them before. It was so lovely to enjoy their beauty without them being dulled by the glass I was accustomed to peering out from behind.

The glasses case was pretty. And cheap. But I didn’t need it so I pushed the Hand of Temptation aside and put it back on the shelf.

The First Item of Clothing Purchased was a black skirt for work. Which, if you’re paying attention, was in fact on my list for this particular shopping excursion.

I needed - and yes, I may be stretching this slightly as I could easily survive life without it - a new black skirt for work as my skirt from last winter has apparently lost a centimetre or two of material since I last wore it. It’s so annoying when material just disappears like that. I can’t imagine any other reason (chocolate, ice cream, delightfully fresh white rolls smothered in butter…) why it no longer fits me.

I have a t-shirt with ‘Chocolate makes your clothes shrink’ printed on it and clearly we don’t need anyone to do a PhD to prove the accuracy of that particular statement.

Anyway, so I tried on a few black skirts in Esprit and after much Year of More-inspired pondering and inner debate, I decided to buy one that fitted well (whilst allowing at least a centimetre for wardrobe-related shrinkage between now and next winter), which was also on sale. To my delight it was reduced from $79.95 to $39.95. But it was still a financial conundrum because I had stipulated I wouldn’t buy any clothing during The Year of More.

‘Forty dollars for a skirt that will last you for years is good value’, my pre-The Year of More Inner Voice of Shopping Logic whispered.

The Hand of Temptation gently nudged me to the counter and you can imagine my further delight when the sales assistant told me it was reduced by a further $10.

Isn’t it funny that I then felt completely justified in buying the skirt, despite the fact that I really could have gotten through winter – and quite possibly my whole life - without it?

I could feel some very familiar old shopping behaviours sneakily revealing themselves - my pre-The Year of More Inner Voice of Shopping Logic was now gleefully screaming – You’ve Saved Ten Dollars!!

I digress for a moment to acknowledge that any men reading this may recognise this form of logic in their wives or partners. The ‘But I’ve saved X amount of dollars’ is a tried and tested element of any marital argument over money spending. I was one of those women who regularly took a defensive stance rather than owning my behaviour. Even if it was only to myself.

I now recognise - and my apologies ladies, as I realise I’m betraying the Shopping Sisterhood by admitting this - that this is a warped device we use to justify our spending.

There I’ve said it.

I am truly sorry.

But um guys, you do it too.

Just crack open the door to any garage, man cave or games room and the evidence will be awaiting within.

Where was I? Ah, yes, shopping. I'd like you to accompany me on a trip to New York...

When I was in The Big Apple a few years ago, I completely fell under the spell of The Beautiful Items of Clothing and Shoes that reside there. It was like the mecca of gorgeous fabrics, colours, textures and designs. I quickly acquired a particular adoration (okay, maybe obsession is a better word) for all the spectacular coats and boots on offer. I’d never seen so many of them cohabitating in one place before. And I'd spent thirty winters living in Melbourne - a not-too-shabby Home of Coats - so I was not going to be easily impressed.

But impressed I was.

The colours were rich.

The styles diverse.

The prices affordable… err, mostly affordable.

I knew my desire for them was heightened by the thought of going home and referring to ‘One of My New York Coats’ whenever I wore one of them.

Yes, I must confess, there was more than one that would eventually make their way back to Australia.

An expenditure, I might add, which still makes me smile rather than feel annoyed or regretful. It was a reminder of the enormous fun we had galloping around New York delighting in our new purchases.

Green Coat, The First Chosen One, stepped out of Century 21 (A Large Department Store Housing Designer Wares at Ridiculous Prices - that's not quite their slogan but it should be) and went straight to the theatre to see 'Mary Poppins'. I quite literally bought him on our way to the theatre. As you do. He reveled in swapping his cold metal coat hanger for the warm comfort of a seat on Broadway. What New York coat wouldn’t be happy with that arrangement?

I bought four gorgeous coats during that trip. And rest assured, the fact I live in what can only be described as ‘A Rather Warm Climate 95% of the Year’, did not deter me in the slightest. I held fast to my dedication to rid New York of the burden of unnecessary coat storage - it’s a very small city you know, I was doing them the hugest favour. And even the cries of ‘Where are you going to wear that in Queensland??!!’ from my delightful travel companions (and fellow seasoned shoppers) didn’t dent my enthusiasm one iota.

In hindsight, perhaps their Voices of Logic weren’t suffering from jet lag like mine was. Although, I imagine I would have actually brought home more coats if I had lived in a colder climate. It was love. Pure and simple.

Four years later, I can honestly say that my love for them hasn’t faded and although I may not wear them as often as I would if I lived in New York (sigh, daydream, sigh), each time I slip my arms into their gorgeously sewn sleeves, I smile as I remember the joyful experience of buying Each One. I know I will adore them forever and there’s no chance of them ever being squished into a garbage bag to be taken to a Lifeline store. (I can hear the four of them nervously rustling away in the wardrobe as I type this, they're quite disturbed at the mere notion of me discussing this with you!). It would be utterly wrong to cast them aside now and I'm sure it would actually be against some unwritten Ethical New York Coat Buying Code of Conduct.

To continue the tradition started in New York, Green Coat gets to travel to Melbourne with me each year to go to the theatre and he (yes, Green Coat is most definitely a ‘he’) has even inspired me with my writing. I have a very small collection of stories written from the perspective of inanimate objects (my goal is to write enough to turn them into a book someday) and my Very First Story was about Green Coat’s adventures when he came to Australia.

Yes, I am fully aware how quirky and eccentric I am.

And Brooklyn Coat, purchased in a souvenir shop of all places, after a long delectable lunch at The River Café in Brooklyn, has the most beautiful satin lining with a precious quote embroidered into it...

How could any Coat and Word Lover – not to mention an exclamation point-frequent-user - worth their salt, resist such a thing?

So that trip to New York is what initially inspired me – more through necessity than anything else, or I would have bought Absolutely Everything! – to only buy Items I Love. When I tried something on, I stood there and quite seriously asked - out loud of course - ‘Do I love you’ and that’s how I decided whether I’d buy it or not. And when you do that, it’s quite amazing what you end up putting back, regardless of how cheap or how much of a bargain it might be.

Go out and try it on your next shopping adventure and report back.

I continue to do this now and I have an additional way of reminding myself. Last year I had the word ‘Love’ tattooed on my left foot. It’s in my Mum’s handwriting, taken off the last Letterbox Joy she sent me before she died. So I now have a permanent reminder to ask this question; a reminder a bit hard to avoid unless socks are involved.

And I absolutely adore that Mum is here supporting me during The Year of More in her own unique way.

So getting back to The Black Skirt…. (that’s it crumpled on the floor in the photo above).

Did I love the skirt enough to buy it without feeling as though I'd failed The Year of More?

Yes. It fit me nicely - my waist is much smaller than my hips, and skirts and I often aren’t compatible so it’s always a pleasant surprise when I find one that fits me.

Could I afford it?

Yes.

Did I save $10?

No. I spent $29.95.

And that’s the big difference since starting The Year of More. I am now willing to own my behaviour and decisions and I'm not trying to convince myself or anyone else that I’m actually saving money by spending it. Sorry girls, I once would have stood steadfastly by you as you argued this point with your significant others (in fact, I do believe I have done exactly that on more than one occasion) but the jig is up as they say (I don’t actually know who says that by the way… just the general ‘they’ that seem to say and do an awful lot).

The other item of clothing I purchased - well done to those of you who are paying enough attention to remember I had bought Two Items of Clothing that particular day - is a dress which I bought for $9.95 and yes, the dress will be worn with the Crazy Wig at The Party.

But the best part?

It’s a dress I love and will wear again, and not just because of its price tag, but because it’s made out of gorgeously textured material which, apart from just looking and feeling lovely, hides all manner of bumps and bulges. They say diamonds are a girl’s best friend but I believe it’s material that hides all manner of bumps and bulges which is our bestest friend of all.

But yes, for $9.95, it’s either a really boring dress for a fancy dress party or I have particularly bad dress sense if I would choose to wear it on a Non-Fancy Dress Day!

I also bought three large avocados for $4. Deadset bargain.

More about my Letterbox Joy purchases next time Lovely Ones.

Joyful hugs,

Karen xo

‘The price of anything is the amount of life you exchange for it.’ Henry David Thoreau

2 Comments

What's in a name?

1/7/2014

7 Comments

‘… That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet’. Romeo and Juliet (Act II, Scene II).

The Year of More is all about giving up the new in order to use and appreciate what I already have and yet, through one of life’s unexpected twists and turns, I have just taken on a new name and it seems like the most natural thing in the world to do. I truly adore how life can be so incredibly random, surprising and enriching!

I never thought I’d be spending money on the following during The Year of More:

1. Change of Name Application - $102.50
2. Credit History Report - $69.95
3. A year’s membership to ancestry.com - $214.00
4. New passport - $244.00
5. Change of Name Kit - $29.95*
6. New return address labels - $16.97**

* The Best $30 I Have Ever Spent… seriously. I spent five minutes ticking boxes and within an hour, more than thirty letters and forms arrived in my inbox! It has literally saved me hours and hours of time searching for websites and contact details and downloading forms.

** Yes, as I confessed in an earlier post, after just two months, I broke my vow to abstain from buying anything from Vista Print for an entire year. But the reason is obviously one I could never in a million years have foreseen. And it seemed crazy to spend hundreds and hundreds of dollars on changing my name and then not spend $16.97 on some new labels with My New Surname on them!

The first time I changed my surname, I was twenty-six and it was because I had gotten married. That happened twenty years ago this year. Wow.

There seems to be much discussion that goes on these days about women changing their names when they marry but I don't even remember giving it any thought; I guess I just knew I wanted to have the same name as my husband. As it turned out, we were only married for six years and when we divorced, I didn’t change back to my maiden name. It was mostly out of sheer laziness but it was also a practical decision to keep it as no one in the state I now live in, knew me by my maiden name. So it honestly just seemed easier to keep the name I had - I’d always liked the name and couldn’t really see the reason in changing it back.

And after a few years, whatever thought I’d given to it had disappeared completely.

I guess the twentieth anniversary of any major life event gets you thinking about who you were twenty years ago and who you’ve become since then. And for the very first time, it didn’t feel right to keep my married name any longer.

But I didn’t feel a strong pull to change it back to my maiden name either.

I simply wasn’t that young girl any longer.

And then the solution came from a most unexpected source.

It came from the grandmother I never had the opportunity to meet.

A woman, who sadly, even my Mum didn’t know.

She gave Mum up for adoption when she was born and although Mum had her birth certificate with her mother’s full name on it, she had never wanted to find her. I was fascinated by it all when she finally told me and I encouraged Mum to find her family but she was always very adamant it wasn’t something she wanted to do.

When Mum passed away in October 2011, I took a copy of her birth certificate back home with me but it has taken me until now to do anything about it. But I do believe things happen when they’re supposed to and I believe I would never have made the decision to change my surname if I had started looking for her earlier. Synchronicity was clearly working its magic behind the scenes.

I started searching for Mum’s birth mother online over the ANZAC Day weekend and what followed was such an intensely emotional experience that I knew I wanted to take on the surname my mother had never gotten to use. So on 11 June 2014, I officially became Karen Maree Young. It feels wonderful and I don’t think I will ever feel the need or desire to change it again. Regardless of my marital status.

Once again, I have a name connected to me by my DNA. And for the very first time, I am choosing a name I want, rather than inheriting one from my father or sharing one with my husband.

This isn’t something I ever thought I would want to do but there you have it. Life often takes us down the paths we least expect to travel. And I cannot wait to see where this gorgeous path leads me.

At the same time all this was happening, my topic for Writer’s Group was ‘Shakespeare’ and that’s when the words above from Romeo and Juliet inspired me to link everything together. To write a story about the women who came before me, who have inspired me to make this decision. I wrote a diary entry from each of our perspectives and although it was a deeply emotional journey – and reading it out to the beautiful women I share my Writer’s Group with was, quite simply, a profound experience – it has also been unbelievably therapeutic and empowering.

My story is called ‘Love in Three Acts’ and below is the diary entry I wrote in my own voice…

‘11 May 2014

It’s Mother’s Day today. For the last three years I’ve avoided all the Mother’s Day hype as much as possible. I honour Mum in my own way each year by sending some Letterbox Joy to one of my friends who has children. It means I still get to buy a gift and one of the gorgeously worded cards adorning the newsagency walls. And each year I get to surprise a different friend which is just lovely. I also send a letter explaining why I’m doing it and thanking my friend for giving me something to smile about on Mother’s Day. So each year I turn a sad occasion into an Opportunity for Joy and Celebration – for myself and for someone I care about. It’s funny the things that make grief that little bit easier.

I only found out my Mum was adopted when I was a teenager. After she died I found out she was ashamed of it. On her second date with Dad, she nervously said ‘I have something to tell you which may change the way you feel about me… I was adopted’. Dad gorgeously responded with ‘So?’ which put her at ease and he said she didn’t really speak about it much after that. Once I found out, I was so curious about my grandparents and whether I had any aunts or uncles. I went to school with lots of Italian and Greek kids who had a plentiful supply of cousins and I was always so envious of them. Mum and Dad were both only children so I have not one aunt, uncle or cousin to call my own. It always felt strange to me, as though something was missing.

I wonder if Mum felt like that. I’d always wanted to find her family but she’d never wanted me to. I honestly think she was scared of being rejected again. It still makes me feel so sad to think that she might have had brothers and sisters out there somewhere. Having grown up the way she did, she’d always craved having a large family and was devastated that she couldn’t have more children after I was born. Her and Dad applied to adopt a child but their application was denied. She was grateful to have my brother and I of course, and she loved us fiercely. Hesitantly at times, but fiercely nevertheless. I realise now she probably lacked confidence in being a mother, not having had one herself.

It has always fascinated me that she didn’t know her own mother because I couldn’t imagine not knowing her. In my first memories, she’s there. When I was a little girl I had a recurring dream where I was in a market; I was lost and couldn’t find her and I’d wake up screaming and she’d come into my room, gather me up in her arms and reassure me I was safe and that she’d never leave me. She nurtured me and supported me and yes, like any mother-daughter relationship, she annoyed me and frustrated me at times too. But she was there. Always.

It breaks my heart that Mum didn’t have the presence of her mother’s love and support throughout her life.

And my heart has been cracked open that little bit wider over the last few weeks.

Because I believe I’ve found Mum’s birth mother.

Mum has always had a copy of her birth certificate, which has her mother’s name and age on it and I tried to find her years ago but it was pre-Internet and unfortunately I didn’t get very far. But a few weekends ago, I started searching online and I’d found her within half an hour. Well, I still don’t have official verification but I believe in my heart that it’s her - Linda Annie Young. My grandmother. This has been such an emotional experience; one I was not at all prepared for.

As I sit here on Mother’s Day surrounded by memories of Mum, I feel as though my heart’s being squeezed. With love, oh so much love. With sadness, more sadness than I know what to do with right now. But most of all, my heart is being squeezed by the strong hand of regret. Regret that I didn’t find my grandmother earlier. Regret that Mum never got to meet her. Regret that she never got to hold her daughter in her arms again or meet her grandchildren. Linda Annie Young lived to the fabulous age of ninety-one and only passed away in 2003. She died in a small country town Mum and Dad had often visited to spend time with relatives of Dad’s. In my daydreams I picture the two ladies meeting by chance in a shop or restaurant and speaking to each other as strangers, never realising how they are connected. They could have had all that time to be mother and daughter.

Another squeeze of regret takes hold and I let the tears run freely. My eyes are blurry as I type this. I sit like this for quite some time and then a space opens up in my heart and I release the regret to allow room for something greater. Something positive. Something to honour these two women’s lives. I want to mark this occasion with something that links them together; even if I’m the only person alive who will ever fully understand why I’m choosing to do it.

I am going to take on the name Mum never had the opportunity to wear. I am going to change my surname to Young.

Karen Maree Young.

It feels right and I have a feeling it will be a perfect fit.’

Writing has always been my favourite way of putting my heart out there for people to see, to feel, and to connect with. I can express my feelings via the exquisite words on a page much easier than I can articulate them out loud. The only problem is I hadn’t actually been putting anything out there for anyone else to read. That has all changed over the last few years, mainly due to my Writer’s Group. It has provided me a safe space in which to share my thoughts, fears, foibles, idiosyncrasies and passions, and to put into words, on paper and out loud, an essential part of who I am.

To be given that opportunity, and to be heard, accepted and valued, has been such a beautiful and precious experience. I would never have dared to write this blog without it. I would have never felt confident enough to share my innermost thoughts, my unique weirdness, and my wildly sensitive heart with the world, if I hadn’t spent the past four years sharing the words I’ve written in a safe, nurturing environment.

Do some people think I’m strange? Most definitely.

Does it bother me? A little.

Am I going to let that stop me? Absolutely not.

I’ve always felt as though the way I think, feel and act is a little out of the ordinary and that most of the things that are deeply important to me, mean nothing to other people, and vice versa. So when I feel as though people truly understand and ‘get me’, I view that as an enormously precious gift, which I tuck away inside the gentle folds of my heart for safekeeping.

To have people truly understand Who You Are, is an incredible feeling.

So I am also making an effort to honour what other people find important:

The Big Things… to understand why spending an enormous amount of money on a wedding is a dream come true for many women.

Or why some people are so terrified of being single that they stay in unhealthy or unhappy relationships.

And The Not So Big Things… to understand why some people adore scary movies… Boo!

Or why people sometimes laugh at others' misfortunes.

Or The Really Important Things… like understanding why the majority of the planet didn't cry when (SPOILER ALERT) Wilson fell off the raft in the movie ‘Castaway’ (and trust me, I've surveyed people extensively on this very topic!). My love of inanimate objects is endlessly nerdy but it's such an intrinsic part of who I am.

I want to understand others better because none of us can expect the people in our lives to honour the quirks and differences in us, if we don’t also honour the quirks and differences in them.

I don’t always do this well but it’s something I’m aware of wanting to be better at so that’s a start.

I also feel as though I’ve spent a lot of time in the past not doing or saying certain things because I was worried what people would think, or I was scared about what they would say in response. Thankfully, this has changed significantly over the last few years as I've finally been brave enough to embrace those parts of myself I haven't liked very much, to forgive myself for the decisions and situations I could have handled better and to just give myself permission to be ‘me’.

It's through speaking up (even if others don't approve), and making mistakes, and cracking your heart wide open, and exploring This Gorgeous Thing Called Life with fearlessness and a brave new perspective, that you actually figure out what sets your heart on fire, who is important to you, and what brings you the greatest joy.

How can we possibly live joy-filled lives if we don't have a clue where that joy comes from?

The world would be a much simpler place to navigate if we all accepted each other just as we are - our quirks, our beliefs, our decisions, our mistakes, our passions, our hearts, our souls, our ‘us’ness.

I can’t imagine I’m going to change as a person because I’m changing my name but I do feel as though making this decision is one of the ways I can express my ‘me’ness. It doesn’t matter if other people don’t understand why I’ve chosen to do it; I do and I think my gorgeous Mum would understand and support my decision too.

The night my new Birth Certificate arrived in the mail (Very Special Letterbox Joy indeedy!), a friend suggested I light three candles to honour the three female hearts involved and I’m so glad she did as it was such a lovely way to celebrate the beginning of a beautiful new chapter in my life.

Linda ♥ Patricia ♥ Karen ♥ three hearts forever entwined

What have you done to celebrate a new chapter in your life?

Joyful hugs,

(For The Very First Time As…)

Karen Young xo

'The way he said her name made my heart cramp. In all my years of word collecting, I've learned this to be a tried and true fact: I can very often tell how much a person loves another person by the way they say their name. I think that's one of the best feelings in the world, when you know your name is safe in another person's mouth. When you know they'll never shout it out like a cuss word, but say it or whisper it like a once-upon-a-time.' Natalie Lloyd, A Snicker of Magic

7 Comments

What makes you happy?

10/6/2014

0 Comments

Today I’ve finished the 100 Happy Day Challenge! The idea is to take a photo of something that made you happy that day, every day for one hundred days and to share your photos online.

It was a really lovely thing to do and a friend commented that she will miss my photos when I've finished so she has inspired me to continue doing it. I’m not sure I’ll do it every day but my goal is to post 1000 Happy Photos!

Here’s a collage of the photos I took…

And this is what I wrote for today’s 100th photo…

It’s interesting to look back on them all and to realise just what makes me happy – there were lots of photos of either sending or receiving Letterbox Joy (of course!), many taken at the beach or of trees or the moon or random naturey things, many involving food and champagne and friends (one of my favourite combination of happies!), quotes and words (some written on eggs) but not many involving ‘stuff’ at all which is really lovely and very fitting for The Year of More.

No photos of dresses or shopping… most of it was about connection or experiences that brought happiness into my life – even if it was something small like watching the bush turkeys playing in the yard at the school I work at.

Or hand feeding a goat

Or the timing of having a key to open the bike shed so a young boy’s bike didn’t have to spend a long cold night locked up all by itself

Or picking up friends from the airport who had flown up to help celebrate my birthday with me

Or playing with a new Dymo machine a friend and I are co-parenting as we’re both creative nerds!

Or when the lady behind the counter in Officeworks pointed to my Audrey Hepburn pendant and said ‘Is that you?’ (Yes, she was wearing glasses but it was still The Best Compliment Ever!)

Or my weird nerdy little habit of writing messages on eggs

Or having time off work approved so I can go to New York next year - Super Exciting Stuff!!!

Or the excitement of discovering an envelope in my Letterbox

Or preparing to send something super special to other Letterboxes around the world

Or the smell of freshly cut grass outside my office

Or The Utter Joy of Words and Books

Or that I simply had a day in which I didn’t have to drive anywhere

Or some foot photos to add to my collection

Or pulling over to chat to the cows

Or immense Celebration Joy

And last, but definitely not least, is my passionate love affair with the theatre...

I currently have three theatre tickets on my fridge – one is for a play in a couple of weeks called ‘Love Letters’ (thereby combining two of my great loves, Letterbox Joy and Theatre Joy!), 'Wicked' tickets for my trip to Melbourne at the end of June and a ticket to see the stage adaptation of the book ‘1984’ (where Big Brother originated for those who don’t know that piece of trivia) which was quite confronting for my sixteen year old self when I first read it in Year 10 English Literature class, way back in 1984.

What joy-filled plans do you have coming up?

Joyful hugs,

K xo

‘Remember this, that very little is needed to make a happy life.’ Marcus Aurelius

0 Comments

Do women really need dresses?

2/6/2014

0 Comments

I own 46 dresses.

Forty-six.

That’s an awful lot of dresses for one woman to own.

I’m not even sure a woman actually ever ‘needs’ one dress – surely any article of clothing would suffice if the need were simply to cover one’s body? Even if the purpose extends to warming the body or celebrating a special occasion, we don’t actually need a dress in order to do that. Society has dictated (in my culture at least) - and we have willingly followed along for centuries - that women should be covered head to foot in a white dress as a requisite to entering into marriage.

But surely a pair of pants and a shirt would suffice? Or a bikini? Or a tastefully placed scarf? A rather large tastefully placed scarf perhaps.

I only have a very teeny tiny amount of Bride DNA so I’ve often been left flabbergasted during conversations about the cost of weddings and in particular, how much money women spend on wedding dresses. The rather large amount of Travel DNA I have happily residing in my body takes over and automatically calculates where in the world that amount would take me. A $1,000 dress has me washing elephants in Thailand, a $2,000 dress and I’m off to the theatre on Broadway, a $3,000 dress and I’m happily sipping margaritas in a Mexican hammock. And anything above that is an Around the World Ticket, which I am yet to experience purchasing.

Despite the fact we can (and some women do) get married wearing anything we please, most women wouldn’t dream of getting married in anything other than a dress. I certainly didn’t. It honestly didn’t even cross my mind not to wear a dress. And if that can happen to me, a woman of the Low Bride DNA variety, surely it can happen to anyone.

I was talking to a woman on the weekend about wedding dresses and how Outrageously Expensive They Are. Let’s call this woman Sally to protect her right to not have her level of Bride DNA shared across the internet without her prior knowledge or permission.

Sally, was telling me that she fell in love with a dress that cost $2,700 (which is almost the price I paid for my first car) and that at 47 years of age, she couldn’t see the value in spending That Much Money On a Dress, which let’s face it, you wear for about 10-12 hours if you’re lucky (unless you party in it until 4am like I did! But more about my wedding dress in a moment.) Anyway, she didn’t buy the dress when she first tried it on but after her niece had a rather disastrous experience with the dressmaker Sally was planning to use, she ended up back at the same bridal boutique. She told herself it was to look at cheaper dresses. Which is of course, like going to the bar your ex frequents after you’ve broken up. It’s never going to be a wise decision.

As retail fate would have it, Sally's dress was on sale.

For $1,500.

And any woman reading this, who has ever fallen in love with an item of clothing but didn’t initially buy it because she couldn’t justify the price, and has then seen that item on sale, will understand what happens next.

I’m not sure of the scientific term but our brain does something a little bit kooky and it completely forgets all about the Cost to Value argument it completely understood and believed in earlier. And we go ahead and justify spending the sale amount. Even if it’s still outrageously expensive and more than the budget we had originally set ourselves. (Kooky Brain Activity trivia: house buying also brings on a similar brain kookiness, which can be witnessed at auctions across the world on any given weekend.)

And this is exactly what Sally’s brain did. Her budget was $900 but she still bought the dress for $1,500.

Any woman in this situation leaves the store happily uttering these words…

I remember saying the exact same thing to Mum after I bought my wedding dress. It was on sale and cost me $500 (it was 1994 and this was on the cheapish side of wedding dresses even back then – the girls at work were spending in the thousands, and we were all secretaries who weren’t exactly earning a lot of money). That’s when I first suspected I Wasn’t Like Other Women when it came to weddings. Although you’d think I would have figured that out when I refused to spend more money on an engagement ring than we’d spent on a fridge.

After I got over the brief excitement of telling Mum I’d found My Dress, I then stood there in shock and said ‘I’ve just spent $500 on a dress I’m Only Going To Wear Once!’ It seemed absolutely absurd to me that even I was capable of being swept up into the Wedding Vortex. I made up for this perceived wedding madness by not having a bridal party and not seeing my flowers or cake until The Big Day. Which was actually quite easy as we were getting married on an island so I simply ordered everything by fax and blindly trusted that the people at the other end knew what they were doing.

I’d like to pause here to acknowledge that those of you with really high levels of Bride DNA may be finding this quite difficult to read right now. My apologies. It might help if you think about baby's breath and a string of matching satin gowns for a minute before you keep reading.

Here’s a link if you need a bit of extra support… http://www.vogue.com.au/brides/

Those with an excessively high amount of Bride DNA, may need to venture here… http://www.buzzfeed.com/rachelzarrell/a-bride-actually-tied-her-newborn-baby-to-her-wedding-dress?bffbnews&s=mobile

This is a link to a story about a woman who tied her four-week old baby to her wedding train.

I kid you not. Seriously, I couldn’t possibly make up something like that!

I bought my wedding dress (Long, White and An Airfare to Perth) on Christmas Eve after my work Christmas lunch (first sign of a Bride DNA anomaly). So I was a little inebriated during said purchase (second sign…). I was also sans Mother of the Bride and any girlfriends (third sign…) as I was on my way to the train to go home. I bought the first dress I tried on (fourth sign…). I know many women buy the first dress they try on but they usually then try on others after that to make sure they’re making the right decision.

A High Bride DNA day indeedy

Not me. I tried it on, liked it, and put a deposit on it right away. Why try on others when I knew this dress was The One? Besides, I had a train to catch remember (Bridal Vogue… Bridal Vogue…). The lady in the store was fascinated by me; perhaps she’d only ever read about Low Bride DNA women in Scientific Bridal Journals and seeing one in real life was endlessly intriguing to her. She said I was the only person she’d ever known who had bought a wedding dress on Christmas Eve, as though I should take that particular piece of information on board for future reference. She also kept asking annoying High Bride DNA-related questions:

Are you sure you don’t want to try on 15 more dresses?

Are you absolutely positive you don’t want to wear a veil??

Are you sure you don’t want to bring your Mum and bridesmaids back in with you???

Don’t you want me to take a Polaroid of you in the dress so you can at least show them???? (I finally let her take a photo which had her giddy with tulle-flavoured excitement).

Are you sure you don’t want a dress with a train she asked eagerly after I’d succumbed to the photo-shoot????? (She didn’t laugh when I said I would be on one in a few minutes time).

Did I love wearing the dress? Yes.

Did I regret paying $500 for it? Absolutely not.

Do I know where the dress is right this very minute? Not a clue.

Would I pay the equivalent of that amount if I were to get married again? Not in a million years.

Surely, with inflation, that amount would at least get me a week in Hawaii??

So, like my wedding dress, these 46 delightfully colourful and textured items currently hanging in my wardrobe were all most definitely ‘wants’ rather than needs. At some point, I bought them, one lovely dress at a time, because I really liked them, and perhaps with a few, I genuinely thought it was love.

But I only actually remember buying a few of them: A black and green dress I had made in Thailand for a friend’s wedding, the beautiful flowered dress I bought to wear to Mum’s funeral and the Little Black Dress I bought in New York, which sadly is now better known as the Too Little To Be Worn Black Dress.

Mostly I have no recollection whatsoever of where I was when I bought most of these dresses. Some things just aren’t significant enough to remember. What I do remember however is where I’ve worn them.

I’ve celebrated and laughed in them at friend’s parties, I’ve cried and hugged in them at funerals, I’ve danced in them at weddings, I’ve excitedly sat down in them at the theatre, I’ve felt nervous and self-conscious in them on dates, I’ve tenderly folded them to take travelling, I’ve volunteered in them at events, I’ve worn them to the beach, to lunch, to the movies, to work.

What I’ve discovered is it’s not the dress that’s important. It’s what you do wearing the dress that brings you joy. I could have been wearing the same dress on all of these occasions – or I could have been wearing jeans and a t-shirt - and the delight, love and pleasure I experienced each and every time, would not have been lessened by what I was wearing or not wearing.

And I know that not buying Dress No. 47 for another year will not in any way diminish my happiness, joy or contentment.

And I know with Dress No. 47, it will most definitely be love.

Joyful hugs,

K xo

‘Joy is not in things, it is in us’. Richard Wagner

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What's your love language?

17/5/2014

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Have you ever heard of Dr Gary Chapman’s love languages? He’s an anthropologist, pastor and marriage counselor who wrote a book called ‘The Five Love Languages’ and it’s just brilliant. I’ve bought two copies over the years, neither of which is currently on one of my bookshelves as I keep lending them out and forgetting who I’ve given them to! (If you’ve got one of my copies, please let me know ☺).

The five love languages according to Gary are ‘Words of Affirmation’, ‘Acts of Service’, ‘Receiving Gifts’, ‘Quality Time’ and ‘Physical Touch’.

I first read the book quite a number of years ago and I remember thinking ‘I wish I’d read this when I was still married’. Until I read that book, I honestly had absolutely no idea how I liked to be shown love. None whatsoever! But once I knew, I could see the patterns in past relationships – with partners and close friends – where I often felt they didn’t really understand me. Perhaps because I didn’t really understand myself, or what made me feel loved and valued in their eyes, so I was unable to articulate those needs to them. Who knew there were so many different ways to express or receive love! Yes, I am admitting how completely naive I was about matters of the heart. I am still learning. I’m not sure I will ever stop learning about my heart and what makes it tick in an emotional sense.

I’ve just done the quiz again and I got the same results I did all those years ago. I can’t remember the exact numbers of course, but I remember the order they were in and I know that Quality Time is most definitely my Numero Uno Love Language. Nothing makes me feel more loved than spending time with my favourite peeps. Preferably in small groups as that also satisfies my inner introvert who adores quality one-on-one time. And it comes as no surprise that Number 2 is Physical Touch as hugging is one of My Most Favourite Things in the Entire World – and long hugs are extra spesh.

If you score lower in certain areas on the quiz, it doesn’t mean those love languages aren’t important to you, they’re just not essential to you feeling loved, and expressing love in return. I often squeal like a little girl if someone gives me a gift that I adore but I would probably trade that gift in for a bunch of gorgeous hours spent with the person who gave it to me.

So this is where it gets tricky and this is exactly why Gary Chapman wrote his fabulous book! We tend to show love for others in the love language we prefer, as that’s obviously what comes naturally to us. But if your partner’s love language is Acts of Service and they want you to help them with something around the house on the weekend but you’re wanting to spend time with them on a picnic because your love language is Quality Time, there’s the chance both of you can end up feeling really dissatisfied, unheard and in the extreme (over a long period of time), unloved.

As you can see, Receiving Gifts isn’t one of my main love languages but I do adore buying special things for special peeps. To celebrate or acknowledge something or ‘just because’ which is my favourite reason for showing love to someone. I love the whole experience. I love choosing gifts for them. I love covering them in gorgeous paper and pretty ribbons. I love writing heartfelt words in a card. I love dropping them off at the Post Office or presenting them to someone in person. Mostly because I know how much the recipient will enjoy receiving a little coloured bundle completely filled with love. For me the love and joy connected to gifts is most definitely in the thought, the preparation and the giving.

One of the most precious gifts I buy each year is a Mother’s Day present. Unfortunately, it’s no longer for my sweet Mum as there are not enough stamps in the world to send Letterbox Joy to Heaven (although I know the love and hugs I send to her always arrive there safely) so I honour Mum in my own way each year by sending some Letterbox Joy to one of my friends who has children. It means I still get to buy a gift and one of the gorgeously worded cards adorning the newsagency walls. And each year I get to surprise a different friend which is just lovely. I also send a letter explaining why I’m doing it and thanking my friend for giving me something to smile about on Mother’s Day. So each year I turn a sad occasion into an Opportunity for Joy and Celebration – for myself and for someone I care about. It’s funny the things that make grief that little bit easier.

This year’s Mother’s Day gift for A Most Gorgeous Friend.

This year I also committed to sending five people a surprise in a ‘Pay it Forward’ challenge on Facebook so I’ve had lots of fun buying little things for those lovely people. I did buy most of the gifts before starting The Year of More but even though I’m still spending money on some extra gifts, I know they will bring smiles to their faces and joy to their hearts, so that most definitely fits with my philosophy for The Year of More… to Create and Spread Joy.

But as lovely as a gift might be, the love really is in the giving, not in the gift.

When I turned forty I asked some of my friends to not buy me presents and I was flabbergasted when they all arrived with armloads of gifts! I didn’t really understand at the time why they hadn’t listened to me but I now get that sometimes gifts are more about the person who’s buying them than the one receiving, and that you should smile, squeeze them in a hug and be ever so grateful that person is sharing their love language with you. It was a grand lesson to learn.

I think it’s actually hard for us to understand that something that speaks to our own heart in the deepest of ways, may completely glide over someone else, while they’re craving for someone to offer to mow the lawn or to tell them the meal they cooked was superb.

So think about what your partner’s love language is. Or if you don’t have a partner, think about how you like to show your love to others and how they show it to you. That’s the key. What they do for you or for other people in their lives, will show you what they would love being done for them. And sometimes we have to help people along a little bit by telling them what we’d like them to do in order for us to feel their love in the most significant way.

Gary has also written a book about the love languages of children. I haven’t read that one as I’m not a parent but I can only imagine how much of a difference it would make to know what your child’s main love language is. It won’t surprise you to hear that as a child, I craved my parents’ time and loved getting cuddles and hugs (and shoulder-rides from Dad!) above all else. One of my favourite ways to spend time as a child was to have tea parties and I was often quite happy playing with my dolls, teddy bears and the family cat Perry (a not-so-willing participant I might add – I’m positive his love language had very little to do with Quality Time) but I loved it when Mum had time to sit down and drink imaginary tea with me. Those times were ever so special and I can remember some of them to this day. And yes, I loved getting gifts for birthdays and at Christmas but I remember how much I missed seeing my Dad on Christmas morning if he was working - he did shiftwork during my entire childhood so we often celebrated as a family on Christmas Eve.

I’m sure I got my love of touch from my grandmother. We have glaucoma in our family and Nanna lost her sight when I was quite young. She would spend hours writing words and drawing pictures on my back while I sat on her lap. I have such vivid memories of that beautiful time we spent together. She also taught me the true value of the gift of sight. And that is one gift I never take for granted.

You can read more about the love languages at http://www.5lovelanguages.com/ and if you click on ‘Discover Your Love Language’ you can do the quiz, which will give you an idea which of the love languages resonate with you the most. Let me know what your top love languages are!

The Year of More Confession No. 1 (clearly, I’m assuming more than one will be required over the coming year): I bought an item of clothing – a pair of black tights to wear to work over winter. I had holes in a couple of other pairs so I now have three hole-less pairs which I’m sure will get me through the next couple of winters (they’re pretty mild here on the Sunshine Coast). The second part of my confession: I ordered something from Vista Print after categorically declaring in glorious blog print that I wouldn’t buy anything for a year ☹ But in my defence, I Had A Very Good Reason… one I will share in a future blog. All in good time dear friend.

Joyful hugs and words of affirmation ☺ (the others I would need to do in person!)

K xo

‘Love is a verb.’ Gary Chapman

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How does the word 'busy' make you feel?

4/5/2014

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Does it make you feel joyful?

Or happy?

Or balanced?

Or inspired?

Or…

Does it make you feel stressed?

Or like you’re constantly rushing.

Everywhere.

All the time.

Does it make you feel tired?

Drained?

Depleted to your very core?

The word busy is defined by the Oxford Dictionary as, ’having a great deal to do’.

We all usually have A Great Deal To Do.

Every Single Day.

It’s called Life.

Working. Volunteering. Learning. Looking after children, pets, significant others and ourselves. Cooking. Eating. Washing. Cleaning. Maintaining a house. Socialising. Celebrating. Loving. Staying in touch. Sleeping. Being happy. Saying yes when our bodies, minds and souls are desperately screaming noooooooooo!

I have recently eliminated the word ‘busy’ from my vocabulary and the changes I’ve experienced have been considerable.

Has my workload lessened?

Has my ‘to do’ list shrunk?

Have I got access to more time or a Fairy Godmother?

No, to all of the above.

(It would be very cool to have a Fairy Godmother though!)

The only thing that has changed is my perception of being busy and my attitude toward the word.

I feel we use busyness in a number of counterproductive and negative ways.

We use it to avoid. Just like with food and shopping and all the other avoidance tactics I mentioned in my first blog post.

To avoid feeling.

To avoid sharing.

To avoid making changes in our lives.

To avoid the gaps and the silences.

And what the whispers in them might reveal if we stopped to listen.

We use it to make us feel important and valued.

We use it to lump everything in together in one big higgledy-piggledy heap.

But if we stop to unravel that higgledy-piggledy heap we often find there are many things in there we don’t really have to do Right This Very Minute.

Eliminating the B Word has allowed me to create space – space that wasn’t previously there. But even if it were, I probably wouldn’t have noticed it.

The space to take a step back and realise Not Everything Has To Be Done Right This Very Minute.

The space to realise multitasking really is a fairy tale.

The space to take pressure off myself – no-one but me will ever notice if I don’t do (a), (b) or (c) as quickly, as fabulously or as regularly as I would like to, if Time Weren’t a Factor.

The space to decide how I truly want to spend my time.

The space to be proactive rather than reactive.

The space to be able to prioritise what needs to be done next.

The space to be mindful.

If you are mindful in each moment, there is literally no space for busy. If you do one thing at a time – from start to completion, you then create space for the next task or activity. I learnt this at the School of Philosophy a few years ago but I don’t think I truly understood the concept until I put it into practice recently.

I actually broke up with Busy before I started The Year of More – I did it after a friend sent me a link to an article called ‘The Glorification of Busy’ and after reading that article I started noticing how often people (myself included) use the word busy in a negative way – ‘How are you?’ ‘Oh, I’m so busy’. I’m not sure why but it usually sounds negative and draining and like something you wouldn’t ever actually Choose To Do or Be.

If you were mindful.

So as one of my objectives for The Year of More is to worry less and stress less, there’s a lovely alignment with continuing to let Busy be a relationship of my past. As with all relationships that are no longer part of our lives, there are reasons why we broke up in the first place. It appears we just weren’t compatible and we definitely weren’t making each other happy.

Since February I’ve been working on a pilot program at work which admittedly, has been draining and challenging at times but I have done my best to not describe my hours, days or weeks as busy and it really has made a huge difference to how I’ve dealt with the workload and the often short timeframes involved with completing some of the tasks.

Even my manager has noticed a huge difference when I’ve been speaking with her about it. Usually I’d be rattling off my 'to do' list and I would actually feel the stress creep into my body as I’d be talking about it. But by eliminating the word busy, I’ve found it much easier to separate all the different tasks so they don’t blur into each other and become One Gigantic Mess of Must-Do-Right-Now’s. I’ve still done the same amount of work and I’m not saying no stress was involved as I didn’t always listen to my inner voice regularly and gently guiding me to Let Go of Busy. (Afterall, some exes are harder to let go of than others.) But I have certainly done it with much less stress, which has made a significant difference.

Now, I’m not suggesting that you don’t actually have a busy life. As I said, we all have a great deal to do all the time and I know those of you with children to care for have much longer and more complex 'to do' lists and responsibilities than I do! And I’m not even suggesting you will be able to find any space to be less busy. What I am saying though, is that our attitude toward how we describe The Way We’re Using Our Time, makes a massive difference to how we experience that time while we’re living it.

Cartoon by Calvin and Hobbes

So I’d like to invite you to do a little experiment. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to spend Just One Month intentionally not using the word busy so you can see what happens for yourself. I honestly think you’ll be amazed!

Report back. Perhaps make some notes in a nerdy list or spreadsheet if you feel the urge :)

Joyful hugs,

K xo

‘We need to make sure that we never get too busy with life that we don’t have time to live.’ Daniel Willey

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Where does the love go?

13/4/2014

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My inspiration for this little venture of self-discovery was the feeling I kept having when looking at items in my home that I haven’t worn or used for months (okay, there's the slight possibility some of them may not have been worn or used for years… yikes!), and then thinking:

At some point.
I liked you.
Loved you.
Or needed you enough.
To Pay For You.
And Bring You Home.
But I don’t use you.
Wear you.
Like you.
Or love you any longer.

It’s like a Shakespearean tragedy.

So I kept this in mind when I would go to buy New Stuff.

I’d say ‘Do I love you enough to buy you?’ and ‘Will I still love you in a year’s time?’

Apparently my new-found and let’s face it, rather odd way of communicating with inanimate objects, wasn’t really helping. Because I still kept buying them. Even though I suspected they were destined to have a similar fate to the many things I already owned.

Unworn. Unused. Unappreciated.

But then something shifted.

I was at the beach one day and decided to write my intention in the sand…

I strongly believe in the Power of the Written Word so I knew this would catapult me into action. I felt a little rush of excitement surge through my body as I thought about how wonderful it is to explore a habit or a fear or a part of yourself you generally just accept without question.

Even if you don’t particularly like that aspect of yourself.

Our comfort zone is our comfort zone, even when it’s actually not that comfortable. We just think it’s easier to stay in it than to take a step toward something new. Something healthier. Something brighter. Something we are far more deserving of.

So I sat on the beach looking at the words I’d carved into the sand and asked myself why I was procrastinating rather than doing.

Because sometimes I like to question.

Okay, I always like to question :)

I am always curious about How Things Work.

And How Something is Made.

And Why People Do What They Do.

And Why On Earth I Do Some of The Things I Do!

And I knew for me, it was about feeling ready. Preparing myself for what I felt at the time, would be a year of deprivation.

So I started keeping a Spending Diary. Something entirely unheard of in My Happy Little World of Mindless Spending!

Every night so far this year I have come home and written down everything I’ve spent money on that day - I know, my nerdiness knows no bounds!

I am now in Week 4 of The Year of More and it may not seem major to anyone reading this, but for me to not have bought a book or a DVD or an item of clothing in almost a month is quite the achievement!

Especially as my Spending Diary (lovingly typed up into a spreadsheet containing nerdy little formulas), informed me that I had spent $1,645.63 on clothing, shoes, books and DVDs from 1 January to 17 March.

Oh my goodness. That’s about $170 a week I was spending on Things I Don’t Need. Admittedly, I did buy some of those items because I knew I was starting The Year of Deprivation… err, The Year of More and I did in fact actually need a couple of them. But if I’m completely honest with you and myself, only a couple of these items would be classed as needs - even to yours truly who has adopted a very liberal use of the term. The other $1,450 worth, were Most Definitely, Wants.

So yes, reaching Week 4 having zeros in these columns is very exciting indeed.

My proudest moment over the last few weeks was shopping with a friend and seeing a book on sale (by an author I really like) and not buying it. And not only was this book on sale, the price was $1.45.

Yes, One Dollar and Forty-Five Cents for a Brand New Book – I kid you not.

And Yet I Still Didn’t Buy It.

Even though my brain was screaming…

I even surprised myself with that one! But I figure it’s a dangerously slippery slope giving myself permission to buy something because I perceive it to be a bargain - because a ‘bargain’ is relative to the item, the price, the value it has to me and my financial situation at the time.

So I put the $1.45 (bargain bargain bargain!!!) book back on the shelf and left the store with more determination than ever to have The Year of More.

I am discovering just how empowering it is to challenge the way I think and therefore, act. And I am absolutely loving it!

Joyful hugs,

K xo

‘The essence of philosophy is that a man should so live that his happiness shall depend as little as possible on external things.’ Epictetus

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So what's The Year of More all about?

28/3/2014

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I have a plan to have The Year of More. By consuming less, spending less and worrying less, I'm going to create more of the meaningful stuff, the joy-filled stuff, the surely-this-is-what-we’re-here-for-stuff, whilst letting go of the less important stuff.

I first had the idea for The Year of More just before Christmas and the thought of Not Buying Books or Dresses or DVDs or Jewellery or ordering Letterbox Joy delights through Vistaprint for an Entire Year did freak me out slightly.

Okay, more than slightly.

So I procrastinated throughout the month of January (whilst, yes, I kept buying books and dresses and DVDs and jewellery and ordering LBJ delights from Vistaprint) until I knew in my heart this was something I Truly Wanted To Do.

I kept thinking, ‘what will happen if I stop spending money on the new, and use what I already have?’ Nothing bad can possibly come from it.

So why is it so scary?

Why does the simple thought of Not Buying Superfluous Things for One Year automatically have me rushing out to spend money on superfluous things?

What could possibly happen?

What is my fear?

What will peeling back this particular onion reveal?

You know what I realised?

By doing this, I could actually finally stop filling that hole with stuff. You know the hole I’m referring to? The hole that craves love or acceptance or belonging or validation or peace or whatever it is The Hole craves. Mine has craved different things at various times throughout my life but I suspect it's only come close to being emptied on the rarest of occasions. Only during the most gut wrenching, soul searching, rawest, broken moments of my life have I even come close to not automatically wanting to fill it. Because it's been in those moments that my soul has wanted to expand to let the light in. To show me that the darkness I fear isn't some big scary hole of nothingness and emptiness but a place of absolute peace and contentment.

We use alcohol, drugs, sex, relationships - either wanting one or staying in one - food, shopping, television, work - almost anything we have access to can be used as a way of Avoiding Our True Feelings. Some of these things we do purely for pleasure and as a form of relaxation but it's when we know deep down we're doing them for another reason - a more profound reason - that it may be wise to stop to consider What That Reason Is. Two of my personal favourites have always been eating and shopping - neither of which I've done excessively. I don't buy extravagant things and I’ve certainly never gotten myself into mountains of debt (apart from buying and selling the occasional house of course!) so it’s not about that.

It’s about why The Need To Do It Is There At All.

Yummy cake we enjoyed at work

So rather than rushing into it when I clearly had a few reservations (a gentler way of saying I was majorly procrastinating), I decided to set the goal of starting on Monday, 17 March 2014 - my Birthday Joy Day.

But apparently my procrastination knows no bounds. I had friends stay with me for the weekend to celebrate. And I had Monday off work. And we went shopping. And I bought a dress. Or two.

So I started on Tuesday, 18 March and from that date, I vowed to only buy things I Need for One Whole Year.

A slight stipulation to this rule is absolutely necessary I’m afraid as I’m going to New York in early March 2015 so I may, (translation: will absolutely), need to finish a couple of weeks early. It’s New York. Enough Said. So technically it won’t be A Full Year but I thought The Year of More was slightly more stylish than 50 Weeks of More :)

So what is allowed you ask?

What are my needs you ask??

Are all the rules as flexible as the timeframe you ask???

Okay, so food items are obviously approved Items of Need but only when my fridge/pantry is without these items. I once read that most people could live off the food in their homes for weeks which I’m sure applies to me – I’m almost positive a can of beans in my pantry was boxed up and moved from the pantry in my previous house more than a year ago.

The joyful purchase of Fabulous Coat Number 4 (not a typo) in Greenwich Village, New York, October 2010

So if there’s already chocolate in the house - my heart has started to palpitate merely constructing this sentence - I Won’t Buy Any More. There. I’ve put it in writing. Losing weight isn’t necessarily one of my goals for the coming year but if The Year of More results in me losing a few I-had-the-most-fun-putting-you-on kilos around my middle, so be it!

Obviously I need to pay my bills – phone, Internet, electricity, water, rates, insurance, mortgage, registration for Emma (my car) etc. but I will be more mindful about the way I use these items in order to use less of our beautiful planet’s dwindling resources. Petrol is a necessity but I will ensure I buy it at the most discounted rate I can find. And I know my Dad will remind me to make sure my tyres have enough air in them so Emma uses fuel more efficiently so I shall do that too (thanks Kenny, love you x).

Household items such as toilet paper, tissues, shampoo, soap, toothpaste, and deodorant are mandatory if I want anyone to socialise with me over the coming year :) But I've recently run out of my favourite perfume 'Angel' and I won't replace it as I have a perfectly good bottle of 'Daisy' sitting there ready to fulfil it's mission to make me smell lovely.

Theatre tickets – yes, I know, you’re probably thinking how can that possibly be a need? Welllllll, this is a Need of The Soul and in order for me to do this successfully, I am going to have to nurture my soul over the next 12 months. So Theatre Joy Tickets will be my one luxurious need.

Theatre Joy is food for my soul

One lesson I’ve already learnt in life is a Need of The Soul should never be ignored. And must be nurtured. At. Every. Available. Opportunity.

Oh, okay, massages are a need for me too so make that ‘two luxurious needs’. Wait, don’t log out just yet - let me explain. I get migraines and having a monthly massage helps to prevent them. See, definitely a need if I want to live a Rich Fulfilling Healthy Life.

I also love sending Letterbox Joy to friends all over the world so I shall maintain my commitment to increase the profits of Australia Post forevermore.

And I regularly donate to six amazing charities each month and I obviously won't stop doing that as the work they do continues to touch my heart.

But this is more about stuff as I believe spending money on experiencing life - via a trip to the theatre, or dinner with friends, or a plane ticket to Melbourne to hug my Dad - they're all the Essentials of Life because they bring me endless joy. And as this whole venture is about Creating More Joy, it seems crazy to limit the joy creation I already have.

Stuff is different though as I believe the joy factor connected to stuff has a limited shelf life - a new dress or CD might bring us joy in the moment but at some point, the Value of Joy it provides to us diminishes - sometimes to the point where we wouldn't even notice if the item was missing from our lives. But the memory of a trip to the theatre or shared laughter over a meal or the feeling of a long warm hug, those Joy Creators stay with us and creep into our souls and remain their forever.

Sooooo, I realise I've just given you a pretty large list of What I'll Still Buy, which rather contradicts my earlier grand declaration to limit my spending.

So what won't I buy?

I won’t buy any clothes (not even undies or socks), or books - I’m breaking out in a sweat just typing those two words - or DVDs, or CDs, or jewellery, or furniture, or cute little decorative things for The Tree House, or electrical appliances (unless they break), or towels or doona covers or cushions or other beautiful household items I am most fond of.

And I hereby promise to Not Order Anything From Vistaprint until I've used all the Letterbox Joy cards - and magnets and recently produced brochures :) - that I already have.

Because, trust me, I have More Than Enough of all of those things.

In fact, over the next couple of weeks I am going to put my finely honed nerdy nerd skills to work and complete an inventory of Almost Everything I Own.

I’m sure it will be the scariest spreadsheet I’ve ever seen.

Row upon row of inanimate objects with what I’m sure will be a large number next to most of them.

Nerdy Nerd Spreadsheet

Some of which I’m equally sure I will be quite embarrassed about. I look forward to sharing that embarrassment with you in the name of transparency and growth.

So I’m curious to see what will happen over the next year. Will I feel less happy, less content, less worthy? I suspect the opposite will in fact happen and that I will have absolute proof that all that stuff actually gets in the way of the stuff that does bring true happiness and contentment and a feeling of worthiness.

I believe Having Less will create More of the Other Stuff – the Joy Creating Stuff!

So I don’t know how exciting or interesting it will be for you to read about me re-reading my favourite book or wearing a bra I haven’t worn in eons :) But for some reason I felt the need to make this a Public Declaration of The Year of More - perhaps to feel truly committed to Doing This.

Because putting something in writing.

In public.

Is a Rather Grand Declaration of Intent.

Or maybe my insights (here’s hoping there will actually be some) might inspire One Other Person to count their books and dresses and to realise They Have Enough Stuff Already and to look for the Real Important Stuff - the Stuff That Feeds Their Soul.

I know I’m looking forward to exploring what else feeds mine.

Endless thanks for reading My First Ever Blog Joy Post!! I promise future posts won't be quite this long :)

Joyful hugs,

K xo

“The things that matter the most in this world, they can never be held in our hand.” Gloria Gaither

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This is me

Hi, I’m Karen Young and I live on the beautiful Sunshine Coast in Australia. I'm a passionate, nerdy, loud, quirky introvert who loves words, elephants, people, the beach, champagne, chocolate, sunsets, trees, travel, books, Joy of every kind but especially Letterbox Joy, Writing Joy and Theatre Joy. I adore being inspired to Live More, Love More and Be More. I love fiercely and hurt deeply. I make mistakes, lots and lots of lots of mistakes! And I learn from most of them although some lessons seem to take me a lifetime to learn so Life is most definitely a constant Work In Progress xo

How much would you pay for love?

Have you ever cheated on your tax return?

Have you ever murdered a teddy bear?

Have you ever been dumped… by a pen pal?

Have you ever taken a drop in pay in exchange for greater job happiness?

How many coats does a woman in Queensland need?

What's in a name?

What makes you happy?

Do women really need dresses?

What's your love language?

How does the word 'busy' make you feel?

Where does the love go?

So what's The Year of More all about?

This is me

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