Twenty-Seventeen... The Year of More Love

Are you okay?

17/12/2016

I’ve used the word ‘okay’ (in the form of an adjective) more in the last year than I have in my entire life. It’s honestly not a word I use very often. I tend to use bold, spunky, vibrant words. Okay just isn’t a word like that.

Sorry Okay, but you’re kind of dull.

In my pre-depression life, when people would say, ‘how are you?’ or ‘how was your weekend’? I wouldn’t say ‘okay’ or it’s even blander word-cousin, ‘fine’. I’d say, ‘I’m fabulous! My weekend was wonderful.’

But for most of Twenty-Sixteen, okay has been my Go To word of choice.

‘How are you?’

‘I’m okay.’

‘How was your weekend?’

‘It was okay.’

This is so not Me.

But it’s given me a different impression of the word okay. It’s not as dull as I first thought. It’s much deeper than I’ve ever given it credit for. Sorry I was so quick to judge you, Okay.

Okay can mean ‘I’m still here’.

Okay can mean ‘I can aspire to feel fabulous again one day.’

Okay can mean ‘One moment I’m teetering, the next moment I’m not’.

And Okay sometimes means, ‘Ask me again and I’ll be honest this time and tell you I’m not okay.’

I feel as though depression, amongst its other bold acts of thievery, has stolen my use and love of adjectives.

A tragedy for any word-lover.

Image from www.lipulse.com

After I posted my last blog about being diagnosed with clinical depression, I received a lot of lovely messages from people. And every single one of them made me cringe. Yes, cringe.

Because they had lots of adjectives in them.

Bold, spunky, vibrant adjectives like special and wonderful and brave and courageous and inspiring.

It’s horrible to admit this but each time I read one of those lovely words, I didn’t feel deserving of that adjective being used to describe Me.

depression had pummeled my confidence and self-esteem so much that I couldn’t even read a message from someone who I know loves me, without feeling unworthy. I wanted to crawl into the white spaces between those heartfelt words and hide away from everyone.

Because I was afraid that you would see me the same way depression does.

As someone weak.

As someone broken.

As someone undeserving.

As someone unlovable.

I couldn’t even ‘like’ the comments made on Facebook as I felt like such a fraud.

It's as though depression had created a PowerPoint presentation of my worst character traits and all the 'bad' things I've ever done. And it was playing on a loop in my head. And it also felt as though it was playing on the gigantic billboard in Times Square for all the world to see.

depression had made me feel like a bad person.

I KNEW I wasn’t a bad person but when you deeply FEEL like something is true, that becomes your truth until you can work your way through it.

Some days I felt like a person who could no longer contribute to society in a meaningful way.

A person who was finding it incredibly difficult to maintain important relationships.

A person who was unnerved even by the thought of being in a social situation involving more than two other people.

A person who felt as though she no longer had anything interesting to say.

But it's these little things that depression wants you to fail at. Like any bully, it thrives and feeds on the lack of self-worth of its prey.

I’ve struggled with feeling worthy my entire life so to have depression squeeze precious liquid-gold drops of self-worth from me has been so incredibly hard to deal with.

When my doctor first recommended putting me on a Mental Health Plan (to see a psychologist subsided by Medicare), I didn’t feel worthy. I felt there were other people out there who needed that support more than I did.

There was nothing wrong with my life. I just needed to find my positivity again and all would be well.

I had friends with cancer who needed it more.

I worked with families who need it more.

I didn’t feel at all deserving of receiving such support.

And unfortunately, the way society tends to deal with mental health doesn’t help either. Our mental health isn't something we need to be embarrassed, ashamed or silent about but there’s still such a stigma attached to it all.

It took me a long time to feel as worthy of support as I would if I had a physical illness. I only got to that point after realising just how much depression was impacting on my life; when I understood how loud the voice of depression was and the influence it was having over me. There isn’t a positivity stick big enough in the entire world to combat depression. depression has an endless bag of tricks and games up its sleeve and it takes great pleasure in using them.

depression is a master manipulator.

Image from www.pinterest.com

That’s why I’ve wanted to be completely open and honest about my mental health – I want to be part of the conversation as I feel it’s so incredibly important. The world seems to be getting more and more complex and young people are growing up with pressures on their mental health I couldn’t have even imagined when I was their age.

Young people are ending their lives over comments and photos posted on social media sites. This is so unbelievably tragic. It physically makes my heart ache to think about it.

But as loud, obnoxious and overbearing as depression is, I know the conversations about mental health are more frequent, louder, more compassionate, more inclusive and involving younger people more than ever before. depression doesn’t want us talking about it or working together to combat it. It likes to keep us isolated as it gives it more power.

But the conversations are working and we need to keep having them so future generations can discuss their mental health in the same way we discuss our physical health.

We need children to know that it’s okay not to be okay.

Image from www.cbc.ca/news/canada/british-columbia/guide-parents-say-child-mental-health-crisis-1.3569848.

Looking back now, I’m very thankful I felt completely broken when my doctor referred me to my psychologist as up until then I couldn’t see how desperately I needed professional support. I was in a scary place and I honestly don’t know what would have happened had I not gone on that Mental Health Plan.

I definitely wouldn’t be any closer to using any bold, spunky, vibrant words to describe myself.

I suspect even ‘okay’ would be far far out of my reach.

My psychologist and doctor supported me to return to work after having six weeks off. Which was hard. So very very hard.

You see, I’ve often felt very incompetent in life - with my finances, in my love life and particularly with anything that requires coordination or balance(!) - but I've never felt incompetent at work before. I'm nerdy and efficient and although I'm not quite a perfectionist, I like to do things well. Even when I've had jobs I haven't liked very much (hello, 10 years as a legal secretary), I've always been good at them. I don't mean to sound conceited but it's just that work has never been an area in which I've felt deficient like I have in other areas of my life. I've felt challenged and stressed by work but incompetence was brand spanking new.

So to go back to work and feel overwhelmed by the smallest of tasks really rocked me.

While I first started my sick leave, just the thought of returning to work caused me a huge amount of anxiety. On Day 2, I remember laying on the couch working out how many sick days I had left before I had to go back. I was literally counting down the days on my fingers. At that point, I still had 11 days left and my body was absolutely riddled with anxiety. I felt as though there could never possibly be enough time to heal before I had to go back to a job which seemed as huge as Mt Everest.

When I did return to work I soon realised I wasn’t going to be able to cope with everything the way I would have like to.

My manager quickly created a ‘return to work plan’ for me which definitely helped me ease back into the workforce over the following weeks. But it wasn’t enough I’m afraid.

So in October, I made the tough yet inevitable decision to resign. I knew I simply couldn’t do my job any longer. I gave two months notice and I left The Smith Family yesterday. After seven wonderful years.

It hurts to write those particular words. I like working. I like contributing to society in that way. I like knowing my taxes are helping those who need additional support. I like having that structured sense of purpose. I like the satisfaction and enjoyment I've gotten out of many of the jobs I've had.

The fact that I'm comfortable with the decision I've made tells me how much I need to do this. I’ve still had moments of doubt of course, I'd actually be worried if I hadn't. But I haven't totally freaked out. I haven't gotten stuck on worrying about whether I'll be able to get another job. This surprises me the most as I haven't resigned without a job to go to since I left to live in London as a naïve and excited 21 year old. I'm a security gal. I like to know where my next pay check is coming from as I'm not good with the financial unknown.

This is such foreign territory for me.

But it all came down to worrying more about what will happen if I kept working.

If I didn't stop.

At the end of the day, that's way scarier than the unknown could ever be.

So I’ve let go, I'm falling into the unknown and most importantly, I'm trusting I’ll be Ever So Much More Than Okay.

I’m going to focus on my health. Because I’ve realised if I don’t, my quality of life will continue to be severely compromised.

And for me, this has included taking anti-depressants. I took them fifteen years ago and I couldn’t wait to get off them. I hated admitting I was taking them. Actually, I probably didn’t tell many people at all. I felt embarrassed that I couldn’t cope with life. I felt like a failure because I couldn’t beat depression on my own.

I feel very differently about anti-depressants this time around. If my brain needs help to keep itself balanced with serotonin and dopamine for the rest of my life, I’m totally okay with that. I just look at it the same as I would if I needed to take insulin for diabetes. I wouldn’t think twice about taking it. And I definitely wouldn’t feel embarrassed or ashamed that I had to take medication in order to live a healthy life.

Right now, my brain needs some help and that’s totally okay.

It’s been very disconcerting to realise just how many typos and mistakes I’ve made over the last few months. My nerdy nerd self just isn’t able to notice typos the way it usually does. Proof-reading doesn’t help as my brain sees what it wants to see. I can’t begin to tell you how many times I’ve swapped words like ‘and’ and ‘at’ in work emails over the last few months. It appears that Brain simply thinks any word starting with the right letter will suffice. You're okay Brain, at least you're trying and we'll get there together.

But I'll lose my nerdy crown if I’m not careful.

I've been doing Sudoku puzzles to help my brain and I've become a bit obsessed with them because when I solve one, I feel a larger sense of achievement than what the task probably warrants. Then there are the times when Brain lets me down and I notice there are two twos in the same row and I feel a larger sense of failure than the task definitely warrants. depression is a rollercoaster on so many levels, even teeny tiny things like doing a puzzle can have highs and lows.

People often don't know how to acknowledge you've got depression. When I told my brother during a trip to Melbourne a few months ago he said, 'you look alright' and I was so depleted at that point that I couldn't even try to explain it all to him. When you're low on energy and spirit, It can be hard enough talking about it with people who do 'get it'.

But sadly I completely understand where he was coming from.

We react to what is tangible.

There's no obvious outward signs of depression so it's so much harder for people to acknowledge and empathise with.

One tip I'd like to give people about supporting someone with depression.

Try not to say, 'you look alright' or 'you look good', especially with relief or surprise in your voice. Saying anything like this indicates you think there's a correlation between our outward appearance and our Fucked Up Brain Chemistry. Because that's what depression is - Fucked Up Brain Chemistry.

Tell us we look beautiful or fabulous but don't express surprise that we can pop on a lovely frock, do our hair and appear as healthy as we usually do.

Because we're not. Our inner world is in turmoil. And you'd be surprised at how overwhelming it was to plug that hair straightener in or to put on mascara.

I'm trying ever so hard to go with the flow and bend with the twists and turns of this experience but some days I really struggle.

On those days I’m not okay.

And that’s okay.

I finished work yesterday and I’m now unemployed and that’s okay too. Even though I feel incredibly wobbly about it today.

Because I’ve taken a major step toward being able to once again say, ‘I’m fabulous!’ when you ask me how I am.

Joyful hugs,

Karen xo

‘There is a thin line that sits in between fear and courage that asks us to balance doubts of the unknown with the pull of discovery. Fear reminds us of risk. Courage reminds us of possibility. We need both.’ Rebecca Ray

3 Comments

Have you ever given yourself permission to fall apart?

5/8/2016

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depression can affect any of us. It can come out of nowhere and run through your life like a steam train and leave an enormous amount of rubble in its wake.

I suffered from depression fifteen years ago after my marriage ended and I found myself in another relationship which sent my world topsy-turvy.

depression swooped down to lift me up into its fiercely strong arms. The grip it had on me at the time felt relentless.

Every Day I found it difficult to do the most basic tasks.

Every Day I struggled equally between wanting to hide in bed and wanting to run away.

Every Day was a challenge in so many little and huge ways.

Every Day I struggled to get through to the next day, where I was required to do it all over again.

And there were many dark moments when I didn’t actually think I would come through it to become a whole, upright and fully functioning human being again.

I felt as though there was no way my body and mind could actually survive it. I expected my humble little body to disintegrate into a small unidentifiable pile of cells on the ground where once I’d stood.

As though I was part of some spooky Stephen King novel.

Image from http://as16online.blogspot.com.au/2012/01/featured-artist-nikki-rosato.html

It has felt very different this time around. depression didn’t swoop down this time. depression patiently waited for me to step into its arms.

I resisted of course.

I didn’t want to acknowledge its shadow in my life.

I wasn’t ready to let it envelop me.

I had things to do.

People to see.

A life to enjoy.

I didn’t have time to fall apart.

We don’t easily give permission to ourselves to fall apart do we? If I’d broken my arm, I would have gone straight to the doctor and I would have had to take weeks off work in order to heal.

I wouldn’t have felt lazy or guilty because I would have simply been doing what my body needed in order to heal.

So why isn’t it as easy to acknowledge we need to take time off for our mental health?

Why do we push depression or stress or anxiety to the side and not give it the attention it deserves?

Why do we often wait until we literally fall into a crumpled heap on the floor before we seek help?

Why do we find it so much harder to tell work colleagues we’re taking time out to heal our soul?

Why is that less important than healing an arm or leg?

The night before I went into work to tell everyone I was taking two weeks off to focus on my mental health, I barely slept.

I lay there worrying about being vulnerable in front of them, which I knew would be even more challenging as we had a new person starting in our office that day.

I lay there worrying about saying it all out loud outside the safety of my psychologist and doctor’s offices, because that would make it feel So Incredibly Real.

I lay there worrying because I care about my job and felt I was letting people down. Even though I’d spent all year almost breaking myself in order to support everyone.

I lay there worrying about what would happen after I took this step.

And I lay there worrying about what would happen if I didn’t take this step.

But I also knew I’d be supported.

I knew I’d be understood.

I knew people could, and would, emphasise.

I knew I had to do this.

Or the outcome would be so much worse.

I’ve known over the last eighteen months that I haven’t been my usual positive and joyful self. In September last year, I wrote about losing my mojo (www.theyearofmore.com/blog/have-you-ever-lost-your-mojo) and in the months after that, I felt as though I was slowly stepping out of the fog I’d found myself in. Not in leaps and bounds but in tiny, purposeful steps.

But stress and depression do amazing things to our bodies. And I was dealing with it all with the infamous Bandaid Approach or Quick Fix.

I would have a quiet weekend in order to prepare myself for yet another Huge work week.

I would avoid difficult conversations or awkward situations because I knew I didn’t have the energy to deal with them.

I wouldn’t engage as much in conversation as I feared I’d say the wrong thing. Because I felt as though I Was Always Saying The Wrong Thing.

I would be gentle with myself and not expect too much.

I would spend time doing things which I enjoyed that didn’t take up too much energy or brain activity. A short walk, a swim at the beach, an afternoon of Netflix, a morning in bed reading a book or uplifting stories online, sending Letterbox Joy, catching up with a friend, another book and another morning in bed.

Repeat repeat repeat.

I thought I was doing okay.

I thought I’d maneuvered my way through the worst of it.

I thought I was on my way back to my missing self.

I truly did.

But the bandaid was tearing at its little plastic seams.

So I started talking to my doctor about how I’d been feeling.

And she gave me a Mental Health Questionnaire.

I scored really high for depression and stress.

But still, I resisted falling apart.

She asked me if I wanted to see a psychologist.

I said ‘No’.

She asked me if I wanted to explore taking anti-depressants.

I said ‘No’.

And then came The Point of No Return.

I was having a full on day at work. But I’d had so many of those this year and this one didn’t feel any different to the others.

I didn’t feel any more stressed than I usually did.

Until I was on the phone to a colleague going through something nerdy that I know inside and out.

And I began to feel incredibly challenged by the conversation. A conversation which wasn’t difficult or unpleasant in any way.

And challenged by the nerdy task that I know inside and out.

And I knew if I didn’t get off the phone at that very moment, I was in danger of breaking in half then and there at my messy desk in my little office.

And that scared me.

It truly scared me.

Because it seemingly came out of nowhere.

So I started saying ‘yes’.

Yes, I need help.

Yes, I need to speak to a psychologist.

Yes, I may need to take anti-depressants.

Yes, I may need to stop and regroup and get my fabulously wonderful shit together again.

So my doctor gave me a medical certificate for two weeks leave and I felt I could breathe again.

But me being Me (it’s not easy being Me!), I tried to organise and control my sick leave because I still couldn’t completely let go.

I was sooooooo scared of letting go.

Control Freak Karen: Okay, so every day you’re going to get out of bed by 9am, you’re going to go for a walk and you’re going to do some cleaning around the house.

Because Control Freak Karen thought that doing this would give me some structure and purpose to my days.

Image from www.bforbel.com

So you can imagine Control Freak Karen’s disappointment when I didn’t get out of bed until 12noon on Day 1.

Or when I didn’t leave my home for 3 days.

And when I didn’t shower for 3 days.

Because the idea of having to get undressed, get wet, dry myself and get dressed again was Just Too Much.

I simply couldn’t do it.

So I didn’t.

By Day 4 I told Control Freak Karen to well and truly FUCK OFF!!!

And I let goooooooooooooooooo

Image from www.wordsandroots.blogspot.com.au

And so this next Chapter began.

Is it a chapter where the heroine of the story faces a challenge and then ‘finds herself’?

No, because you know what I’ve learnt in my 48 years on our fabulous little planet?

There’s no ‘finding yourself’.

Because you’re already here.

I’m already whole.

I’m already Me.

Although I am, and will always be, a messy and passionate Work in Progress.

We just honestly forget that we don't need to 'find ourselves'. And we go off searching for ourselves here, there and everywhere, when everything we need is already inside of us.

We search for ourselves in other people, in careers, in other countries and in books (sorry books, you know I Love You, but it’s true).

At the end of my first session with my new psychologist, she told me how much self-awareness I have and how many tools I already have to work through this. Which was nice to hear when I was feeling so incredibly low and was using what little energy I had to be incredibly hard on myself.

But having awareness and tools doesn’t equate to being able to do it on your own. I was floundering with my self-awareness and tools, absolutely floundering. And it wasn’t until I sat across from her

broken open

that I realised just how bad things were. Just how stressed I felt. Just how splintered I felt. Just how ill-equipped I felt to deal with life.

When I felt similarly challenged by life fifteen years ago, I literally had no self-awareness or tools. None. Nada. Zilch. I was absolutely clueless about how to navigate my way through The Tough Stuff.

I was thirty-three at the time and clearly I was a rather late bloomer in the Personal Development Class of Life!

But better late than never, as They say.

depression leaves you feeling like an empty shell walking around fearful of falling and shattering into a million pieces.

But something deep inside of me knew that I wasn’t in danger of shattering or disintegrating this time around.

Part of me knew from experience that with time and support and an enormous amount of self-love and compassion, I would come through this experience stronger than ever before.

But if you haven’t experienced depression before, that unknown space is downright frightening. I remember it well and I applaud that thirty-three year old Me for venturing into The Unknown, as I remember how terrified and alone she felt.

depression beat me to a pulp once before but this time I am ready to fight back (cue Rocky music).

I refuse to give depression a capital D because Capitals are for Powerful words. For words of Substance. For words I Adore. For words that Uplift and Empower. Words like Love and Joy and Forgiveness.

depression is none of these things.

depression is cowardly and hurtful. It’s a thief of Joy. It’s dark and cold. It wants you to feel alone and lonely. It wants to erase the parts of you that make you You.

And like any bully, the less power we give it – in whatever way each individual chooses to that do – the less power it has to hurt us. For me, that’s by taking away its power in my written world because words are such Beautiful and Empowering parts of my life. Every day I read words that touch my soul – in a book, in an article online, in an email or text from a friend, in a transcript of one of the conversations my students have with their mentors; words that will imprint themselves on these young souls forever.

There is nothing I admire more in a person than their ability to string a bunch of little words together that can touch someone's heart. Words that make you Feel. Words that Heal and Nurture.

depression, grammatically incorrect or not, you’ll never get a Capital letter from me.

I wanted to share this challenge in my life because we need to talk about our mental health more. We need to reach out to each other. We need to feel as comfortable taking time off for depression as we do when we have the flu or a broken bone. We need to be vulnerable and trust that we'll be supported.

Just because depression and stress aren’t tangible, doesn’t mean they don’t exist.

And that they’re not painful and debilitating.

I spoke to a friend the other day who said that I’ve inspired her to speak to her doctor, as she doesn’t want to break in half at her desk either.

Talking about our mental health normalises it.

Talking about our mental health prioritises it.

Talking about our mental health enables us to empathise with others who are experiencing similar struggles.

Talking about our mental health leads to us giving ourselves permission to fall apart, which is one of the kindest things we can do for ourselves.

I saw my psychologist and doctor again on Thursday and they’ve given me another two weeks off work.

I’ve reminded Control Freak Karen that she needs to back off and let me do this my way. So far she’s listening.

And me, well, I’m proud of myself for making my mental health a priority and I’m just taking life one day at a time.

Be kind to yourself, because you're ever so precious.

Joyful hugs,

Karen xo

“Instead of saying, ‘I don’t have time’, try saying, ‘it’s not a priority,’ and see how that feels. Often, that’s a perfectly adequate explanation. I have time to iron my sheets, I just don’t want to. But other things are harder. Try it: ‘I’m not going to edit your résumé, sweetie, because it’s not a priority.’ ‘I don’t go to the doctor because my health is not a priority.’ If these phrases don’t sit well, that’s the point. Changing our language reminds us that time is a choice. If we don’t like how we’re spending an hour, we can choose differently.” Wall Street Journal

3 Comments

What have you failed miserably at?

2/5/2016

0 Comments

So last month I bragged about how easy peasy I found February’s challenge (you can read all about that here… http://www.theyearofmore.com/blog/do-you-remember-charlies-surname) and now I’m here to tell you how miserably I failed at the challenge I’d set myself for March.

I could not have done worse if I had intentionally set out to fail.

Bad bad bad.

So. Very. Very. Bad.

But as Mark Rashid says…

Too right Mark. You’re clearly a very wise man. I like you. I like you a lot.

The challenge I chose for March was going to bed at 9pm from Sunday – Thursday nights.

I was inspired to do this after reading the following article which discusses the huge physical and psychological benefits of going to bed early.

https://medicineandsergebenhayon.com/2015/09/20/the-science-of-early-to-bed/

It’s not just about getting enough sleep but apparently what time you go to bed is of equal importance. The work our brains have to do is done more efficiently and effectively if it gets cracking on it at 9pm rather than 11pm. I can see the logic in that.

But I failed my brain and body for two reasons:

March is a mega crazy time for me at work so I’m often working back late or starting early.
I really didn’t put much effort into achieving my goal.

You would think that going to bed early would be appealing if I’m working long hours, wouldn’t you?

But do you know that feeling when you get home late from work and you just need to spend some quality time unwinding once you’ve had something to eat and done whatever else needs doing?

An expanse of time specifically earmarked to do Nothing.

Or to do something relaxing like watching a movie or reading a book. If you get home from work, have dinner and then go to bed within an hour or two, it feels as though all you’ve done is slept and gone to work. And you end up feeling like a mouse on The Great Wheel of Life.

Image from www.cartertoons.com

So I would stay up late even though I knew that getting more sleep was actually the key to helping me get through this crazy work period.

It’s a conundrum that’s for sure.

I do like the word conundrum. It’s an excellent, excellent word.

So 9pm would come and go and I’d still be relaxing rather than going to bed to get a good solid eight or nine hours sleep into my weary mind and body.

I think I would have done better at this challenge during a different month so I’m going to try it again later in the year when work slows down a bit. October will probably be a good month so I shall aim for that.

Or perhaps I’ll just spend October sleeping in a hammock in Mexico; one never knows what’s around the corner you know.

Me. In a hammock. In Mexico.

So I had a talk with myself (I do that quite regularly) and reminded myself that I didn’t really fail, I just chose a really bad time to set this particular goal for myself.

I didn’t have a Very Good Plan.

Sometimes when we set goals, we don’t actually factor in what we need in order to have the best chance of succeeding. Like choosing the Right Time.

Clearly I wasn’t very mindful when I chose to do this challenge in March so the odds of me actually doing it were quite slim from the outset.

And as they say in the Hunger Games…

Image from www.firstcovers.com

So before you start, ensure the odds have the best possible opportunity of actually being in your favour.

Plan.
Plan.
Plan.

And ask yourself these questions…

Do I believe my goal is achievable?
Do I understanding why I want to achieve it?
How badly do I want to reach my goal?
What do I need to put in place to make it happen?
If I fail, am I willing to try again?
Do I have a supply of champagne to celebrate with when I kick some Major Goal-Setting Ass??!!

Champagne courtesy of my fridge

I wrote about failing to learn how to ride a bike in an earlier blog post http://www.theyearofmore.com/blog/what-have-you-done-because-everyone-else-was-doing-it and how much that lesson taught me. We can have our greatest Life Lessons through embracing our little friend, Failure.

He’s here to help us. Truly.

I can obviously do this challenge. It’s not like my goal is to perform brain surgery; I simply want to go to bed earlier. And apparently at one time in my life, I was quite exceptional at it.

Mum told me that when I was a little girl, I would come home from kindergarten, have dinner and put myself to bed because I was so tuckered out.

That’s all I’m trying to do now. And my job is way more exhausting than kindergarten ever was. Although all that interaction with new little people is rather draining for us introverts.

I’m not sure if I was in kindy or Prep but I remember being given a bottle of milk - with a little silver cap on the top that you’d peel off and lick the cream from – and then we’d all lay down for a wee nap. Every single day.

Image from www.runselfierepeat.com

So do I little girl, so do I.

Now, I’m sure they probably do something similar at workplaces like Google and Facebook (perhaps minus the milk) but maybe the rest of the working world needs to get back to basics and implement this well-being strategy? My workplace is gung ho this year about Work Life Balance and Well-Being so perhaps I’ll suggest it.

Naps all round.

At work, we each have an Individual Development Plan which we work toward each year. And as the organisation is focusing heavily on staff well-being this year, I decided to put ’10 minutes of colouring-in each day’ as one of my goals for Twenty-Sixteen. I wasn’t quite sure if it would be taken seriously but thankfully my manager thought it was a wonderful idea.

So I am absolutely loving being able to colour-in at my desk and not feel as though I’m wasting time or slacking off.

Although I’ve been a bit slack with my colouring-in over the last six weeks or so as I’ve been working long hours and have lost sight of those things which help keep me balanced. Which is a shame as it really does make a difference to completely stop what I’m doing and spend 5 or 10 minutes totally immersed in nothing but playing with my pencils and being creative. I can honestly notice a difference in how I’m feeling on the days that I do colour-in at work.

So once again, I’m not doing something which I know is ultimately going to be better for me. It’s funny how us humans can do that isn’t it?

We go to bed late even though we know sleep is exactly what we need.

We eat the wrong foods, date the wrong people and stay in the wrong jobs for far too long.

We ignore the gorgeous little colouring-in Desk Calendar on our desks and keep rushing through the ‘To do’ lists of life.

Clearly 18 February was a Colouring-In kind of day

And just as the Tibetan monks do with their sand mandalas https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=10084L3Pqsc, I throw away my fabulous works of art once I’ve finished them.

To remind me how impermanent everything is. Including Life.

If we’re lucky, we get to spend 80 or 90 years being our fabulous selves on this incredible planet.

And throughout those 80 to 90 years, we are most definitely Going to Fail on occasion.

And that’s okay.

In fact, it’s mandatory.

When I was younger, I was often too scared to take a chance in life because I was so worried about failing and what that would mean. I used to be too scared to change jobs/houses/partners/friends/whatever it might be, because I feared the unknown space that lay ahead. I worried about what would happened after I’d taken that next step – even if I knew in my heart and soul that the next step was absolutely perfectly right for me.

I know it sounds ridiculous but I would get completely stuck in my fear around what would happened after that – and I don’t mean as part of that first step, I’m talking about way after. For example, if I was contemplating a new job, I would be terrified of what would happen at the end of that job, rather than focusing on how much growth and experience I'd have doing that role which would lead me on to something even more amazing.

So I'd not take the job or not move house or not leave a relationship because of some unknown place down the track. A place which had no semblance of shape or form or space in my life. I find it really strange now but that's how I lived my life until I was in my late thirties.

My comfort zone ruled my life.

But occasionally Life sends me a reminder of how I used to deal with the opportunities and decisions presented to me and I slip back into that irrational space of Fearing the Unknown.

But greater than my fear of the unknown is my fear of going back to being that woman who didn't trust and act on her intuition. I’m scared of once again being that woman who never wanted to acknowledge her doubts and fears and shortcomings. A woman who didn’t celebrate her accomplishments and creativeness and worthiness; my greatest struggle in life, as I believe it is for many of us beautifully flawed human beings.

But self-awareness and experience are a formidable team so I know I will never completely be Her again. She may creep back in on occasion to remind me there's always work to do on myself; and to remind me never to become complacent or to think I'm completely healed or that I can't grow any further. She keeps pushing me to learn and grow and reflect and to take responsibility and to acknowledge where my strengths are and where they aren’t.

So although I don’t want to be Her again, I am grateful for her presence in my life and thankful for the continual lessons she presents me with.

We sometimes forget that We – our messy, imperfect, inspiring, fabulous, coloured-outside-the-lines, shiny selves - are one of the greatest teachers we’ll ever have in life.

Joyful hugs,

Karen xo

‘Imagine the choices you’d make if you had no fear – of falling, of losing, of being alone, of disapproval.’ Martha Beck

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Do you remember Charlie’s surname?

27/3/2016

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When my Mum was a little girl she would regularly spend every precious cent she had on a bag of lollies and I loved when she shared these stories with me as she’d go into delicious, delectable detail.

She painted such a bright picture in my mind of just how much joy this experience brought her.

She’d describe her excited walk to the local milk bar and then she’d stand looking up at the counter filled with colourful sugary delights and slowly…

ever
so
slowly

she’d select her favourite treats and watch as the milk bar owner packed them all tightly into a little white paper bag before handing them down to her.

And every time she told me this story, she’d stop to laugh at this point as she admitted that hardly any of those lollies would make it all the way home.

Clearly for those particular lollies it was more about the journey than the destination.

I definitely inherited every little piece of Mum’s lollie-loving DNA as I was exactly the same as a little girl. And I followed her footsteps by walking to the local milk bar more times than I can count.

Your typical Melbourne Milk Bar (aka real estate filled with lollies). Image www.concreteplayground.com

I can still remember the feel and weight of one of those little bags of lollies in my hand.

It’s a shame those Very Expensive lolly stands they have at shopping centres and movie theatres these days don’t use Little White Paper Bags. Plastic bags just aren’t the same. At all.

Little White Paper Bags patiently awaiting their sweet-filled fate

It'll come as no surprise to hear that one of my favourite movies as a child was ‘Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory’. It was such a fantastical adventure into what I sincerely hoped was a real chocolate factory because I longed to win a competition to visit it myself. I so badly wanted one of those golden tickets so I could meet the Oompa-Loompas.

So you can imagine how excited I was when Mum told me she once worked in a chocolate factory. I figured that had to be The Best Job In The World!!!

Remember when Lucy and Ethel worked in a chocolate factory? Soooooo funny!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8NPzLBSBzPI

I remember being out to dinner with friends when I was in my twenties and somehow we started talking about Willy Wonka and none of us could remember Charlie’s surname so I started going from table to table in the restaurant asking random strangers if they knew what his name was. Ah, finding the answers to questions was so much more creative and interactive prior to the invention of Google wasn't it? (Remember that night Ann? So Much Fun and I met so many lovely strangers who all had the opportunity to revisit their childhood, whether they wanted to or not... haha!)

My love of sugary treats knew no bounds and most of my pocket money was spent on lollies, just as Mum’s had been a few decades earlier.

Although when I Fell Deeply Head Over Heels in Love With Books, I started keeping some of my pocket money to spend on those too.

Image from www.aclutteredmind.com

It was such a delicious love triangle. Books, Lollies and Me.

And I was similar to Mum as I don’t think the concept of ‘save some for later’ ever resonated with me.

Not when it came to lollies or money. I ate them as soon as they were in my possession and I spent it as soon as I received it.

Save Some For Later.

It’s such a foreign concept.

I just don’t get it and I agree with Ross.

Image from www.gifrific.com

Growing up, there were two BIG lollie and chocolate-related events in life.

Easter and the Royal Melbourne Show.

Bertie Beetle Show Bags were the best! Image: www.heraldsun.com.au

One family tradition I remember vividly is our trip to the Royal Melbourne Show in September each year. We went on rides, ate fairy floss, got lost in the crowds on occasion and without fail, my brother and I came home with a ridiculous amount of show bags in our possession. We’d sit on the floor in the living room counting our plentiful stash of sweet treats and trinkets. What joy those family excursions brought us. Not just because of the things we received but because Dad worked shift work so a day out with both of our parents was Extra Special.

The Easter Bunny was a very generous visitor in our house and getting a Humpty Dumpty was the pinnacle of Easter treats. I still buy a Humpty Dumpty every year as it takes me right back to my childhood.

Humpty Dumpty circa 2016. Don't fall Humpty!

My brother is the total opposite of Mum and I when it comes to sweets.

Mum and Dad would obviously give us the same amount of Easter Eggs or buy us the same amount of show bags but without fail, I would eat all my sweet treats within a couple of days and he would still have his a few weeks later.

Oh, the torture of seeing his little piles of Easter Eggs in the fridge after I’d eaten all of mine. Eventually I’d beg him for one of course, which would delight him as he knew he could get me to do something to earn one of his eggs!

Childhood can be rough to navigate when you have a big brother who knows all your weaknesses.

Check out how happy he is to be holding the chocolate… and how grumpy I am that I don’t have any. Not happy Jan.

This photo was taken on my brother’s birthday but I’m sure I wouldn’t have understood why I didn’t get a block of chocolate as well. I loved it more afterall. Surely that's a good enough reason?

I remember Mum telling me this photo was taken on a really hot day in Perth and David’s chocolate melted by the time we got back to the car from this lookout.

Which is, of course, a pretty solid reason to always eat chocolate Right Away!!! The risk of the Melty Monster getting his hands on it is way too great.

So the challenge I set myself for the month of February was to not eat any chocolate, lollies or ice-cream for Twenty-Nine entire days (and yes, I did choose February to do this particular challenge as it’s the shortest month of the year).

I was not to eat one single mouthful.

Image from www.debbieohi.com

And I did it so easily I was shocked!

Absolutely shocked.

As you now know, I’ve had a life-long love affair with All Things Sweet so I honestly thought this would be a really difficult thing to do for an entire month.

Twenty-nine days.

Six hundred and ninety-six hours.

Forty-one thousand, seven hundred and sixty seconds.

A really REALLY long time.

So why was it so easy?

Because it was short-term.

So my brain and body knew they would get to enjoy these treats again in the near future.

It’s a simple as that.

Had I said ‘I’m giving up sugar forever’

or

‘I’m never going to eat a bag of lollies ever again for the rest of my life’

I would have failed within the first few days.

But I went Twenty-Nine whole days and not only did I do it easily, I also didn’t really miss it.

I even had a block of Lindt chocolate in the fridge The Entire Time which went untouched.

I did glance at it adoringly on occasion though.

So have I gone back to my wicked chocolate, lolly and ice-cream eating ways in March? Oh course I have! I’m nibbling on a Humpty Dumpty as I type this (yep, the one in the photo above… thanks for your yumminess HD. You've now lovingly fulfilled your mission in life to be adored, appreciated and devoured).

The Easter Bunny has always managed to keep track of where I’m living no matter how often I move. He's very clever like that.

And the other reason why I’m eating Sweet Treats again is because I’m my mother’s daughter through and through.

We even wore hats that resembled white paper lolly bags!

One of my favourite books, ‘The Lady and the Chocolate’ by Edward Monkton always reminds me that we’re doing a wonderful service by eating chocolate… take a look at this short clip about the book.

You’ll never feel guilty about eating chocolate again. I promise.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cbI7UD8mt8I

See, what a happy story that is.

By the way, his surname was Bucket… Charlie Bucket. Just in case you were curious and haven’t gotten around to Googling it yet.

Joyful hugs,

Karen xo

‘People are like M&Ms. They come in a variety of colors, they're hard on the outside, and full of obscene yumminess on the inside.’ Michael Makai

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Do you remember who shot JR?

7/2/2016

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My Mum never watched daytime soap operas. She just didn’t like them. I, on the other hand, adore a good soapie and started watching them at quite a young age.

When I was in primary school, the mother of my two best friends watched all the daytime soaps so on rainy school holiday days (and there were many of those growing up in Melbourne!), we would hunker down for an afternoon of ridiculously-scripted drama and intrigue.

And I was hooked.

It didn’t matter that the acting wasn’t exactly Oscar-worthy.

Or that the storylines were often preposterous.

Or that we were probably too young to be watching these types of shows.

It was storytelling, and I came out of the womb craving to be told, and share, stories.

My friends and I grew up with Bo and Hope on Days of our Lives and Victor Newman and his wicked ways on Young and the Restless and I loved it.

I loved the romance.

I loved the unlike-real-lifeness of it all. (Until my life started to resemble Days of our Lives but that’s a story for another time.)

I loved the silly stares and arched eyebrows.

I loved the characters that died and then miraculously came back to life – sometimes with the same actor, sometimes not.

I got caught up in the love stories and got mad at The Room of Unseen Writers for constantly creating reasons for My Favourite Love Story Characters to be ripped apart from the Happily-Ever-After destiny that was clearly meant to be theirs.

And then I cheered loudly when The Room of Unseen Writers finally saw fit to reunite the star-crossed lovers and all would be well in my soap opera world again.

During my high school years I continued to catch up with my soap opera friends whenever I could, and then when life bestowed a VCR upon me, I started taping my favourite soapies each day.

Oh dear.

Image from cartoonstock.com

Sometime in my twenties (okay, thirties), I stopped watching them regularly but I have to confess, I felt a familiar buzz of Soap Opera Excitement when I discovered ‘Direct from the US’ episodes of General Hospital on my Apple TV a few months ago.

At first I resisted the urge to watch it but then curiosity grabbed hold of me and like any addict, I thought I could watch Just One Episode and then never watch it again.

As if that was ever going to happen once the residents of Port Charles had once again embedded themselves in my psyche.

Yesterday I sent the following text to a friend who understands my Soapie Addiction and never judges for me it:

‘I may be in too deep with my return to General Hospital. The other day I got teary when a couple decided to divorce. A couple I’ve been watching for a couple of months. Not even one I was emotionally invested in for years and years! It’s a slippery slope I tell you.’

She replied with empathy and understanding.

But she also offered to come to my home to have an intervention should I feel the need for one.

Unfortunately I can’t mention my friend’s name, as I need to protect her identity. I wish we lived in a world where soap opera fans weren’t ridiculed and judged for their viewing choices but I think we’re at least a few decades of, ‘Like Sands Through the Hourglass’ drama away from that type of equality and utopia.

My Mum would have loved Downton Abbey. Absolutely loved it.

Although she wasn’t into daytime soaps, she did love a good nighttime drama series. Particularly if it involved romance, hospitals or crime. I can’t even begin to tell you how many gruesome murder-mystery/CSI-type shows my parents have watched over the years.

Actually, they’re pretty much the reason I had nightmares as a child. My parents that is, not the television shows.

I’m going to disclose some rather personal information about my Dad right now and those of you who know him, know he’s The Gentlest Man on Earth so you may have trouble believing this. But he has a dark side. A very very dark side.

In 1979, when I was 11 years old, my dear, sensitive, Disney-movie-loving mother took my brother and I to see ‘When a stranger calls’, a totally scary movie (or as the internet describes it, ‘a psychological horror film’) I was clearly a wee bit young for.

I guess ‘The Muppet Movie’ (also made in 1979) wasn’t showing at our local cinema that night.

This is about as scary as the Muppets ever get.

Dad, who has always loved a good thriller, couldn’t go as he was on night shift. So not long after Mum arrived home with her severely traumatised offspring, Dad rang and heavy breathed down the phone ‘Have you checked the children?’ which is the terrifyingly creepy catchphrase from the movie. Oh my goodness, you should have seen Mum’s face! I thought they were headed for divorce court after that one. Although what she was thinking taking us to see it in the first place, I will never know!

The following year when I’d barely completed my therapy after the ‘When a stranger calls’ Anti Father of the Year incident, Dad took me to see ‘The Shining’. You know, that incredibly edge-of-your-seat ADULT horror film starring Jack Nicholson?

I was thirteen.

Once again we went at night. I’m detecting a pattern of Quite Bad Parenting Decisions here.

So we arrive home and Dad drops me off at the front door before parking the car in the garage. A few minutes later, as I’m hugging my mother and asking her to promise to stop sending me to Very Inappropriate Movies, he walks quietly through the door with an axe in his hand. I’m not kidding. My incredibly gentle father then proceeded to chase me around the house with an axe. This will no doubt seem like an even stranger thing to do if you haven’t seen the movie and don’t know that’s what Jack’s character does to his family in the movie.

Here’s a little clip in case you’ve never had the viewing pleasure.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WDpipB4yehk

I’ll give you a few moments to now watch this Very Funny Elmo Clip to settle your nerves.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jc20vMz0V7Q&list=PLD6870D84DCB1D331&index=25

As you can imagine, I was hysterical. Dad however thought it was hilarious. And Mum was screaming at him to stop terrorising me. And my brother, well he was probably in his room filling in an Application For a New Family.

I made Dad sleep in my bed that night and I slept with Mum.

And he never chased me around the house again with an axe.

I’m sure you won’t be at all surprised to learn that I never ever ever watch scary movies anymore. And even if I watch something violent like a Quentin Tarantino film, I generally need to watch a Disney movie straight after it.

So what does any of this have to do with my first The Year of More Simplicity challenge?

Well, for the month of January I gave up Netflix.

Yes, I did.

And I was actually amazed as just how easy it was, as I was expecting it to be Quite the Challenge.

As you may know, I don’t have access to regular TV so I signed up for Netflix in the middle of last year to catch up on the shows I’d been missing and I quickly discovered just how supportive Netflix is of human beings spending endless hours binge-watching TV shows or movies.

You don’t even need to get up to change the DVD disc or lean over to find the remote control as Netflix starts playing the next episode – after fifteen seconds - without you having to lift a finger.

I am literally thinking this for the entire fifteen seconds as Netflix waits patiently and smugly because of course it's soooooooo sure I’ll be watching ‘Just One More Episode’

And Netflix is usually right.

It’s scary time-wasting stuff.

So I thought having a Netflix-free month would be a good thing.

And it definitely was.

I read more.

I went to bed earlier. Only slightly earlier though, as Books also have the power to entrap us on the couch/bed/zebra chaise lounge for hours at a time.

One of my fave places for some Reading Joy

I was more mindful about how I was spending my time, as I wasn’t just letting Netflix roll from one episode to the next for hour upon hour.

And I spent time thinking about how much TV viewing has changed.

Do you remember what watching TV used to be like?

Back when you had to wait a week for a new episode to emerge.

Back when there were no VCR/DVR players to record your favourite shows if you weren’t home.

Back when you had to wait months (and months!) for the next season of a show to start.

I remember it feeling like years before Dallas returned to our screens to reveal who had shot JR.

Up to that point, it was The Biggest Thing to Ever Happen in TV Land.

Everyone was talking about it and it was the birth of The TV Cliffhanger. Which wasn’t intentional by the way. Apparently the producers wanted to make a few more episodes and said ‘oh, let’s just shoot him and work out next season what happens’. A stroke of hook-in-your-viewers genius that is part of the format for most TV shows these days.

And the episode where his shooter was revealed - 36 YEAR OLD SPOILER ALERT: it was his sister-in-law (and mistress) Kristen - is still one of the highest viewed episodes in television history.

Of course now we can buy DVD boxed sets or binge-watch on Netflix to our heart’s content so that element of protracted anticipation no longer exists.

Unless we’re watching shows as they’re produced and aired (and therefore have to wait a few months in between seasons), the suspense is largely gone – or it’s there but for a much shorter period of time.

We can also Google to find out what’s going to happen next as the Internet is absolutely filled to the brim with juicy spoilers.

But there was something rather amazing about the power of a fair dinkum TV cliffhanger like 'Who Shot JR?'.

It’s not every day a TV show graces the cover of Time Magazine and has the whole world talking - without the Internet being involved.

So, on 1 February I gave myself permission to watch Netflix again but there was something far more important to watch.

Mother Nature chose that night to put on The Best Light Show I’ve Ever Seen so I spent over two hours on my zebra chaise lounge staring outside at the night sky.

It was truly magical and like nothing I’ve ever seen before.

And I figured Netflix wasn’t going anywhere.

Here’s a short clip to show you just how absolutely spectacular Mother Nature’s performance was. Definitely Oscar-winning material.

http://www.sunshinecoastdaily.com.au/news/late-night-storm-puts-lightning-show-coast/2917670/#/0

I’m now on Day 7 of February’s challenge… I’ll be back in early March to fill you in on how that went!

Joyful hugs,

Karen xo

‘We owe a lot to Thomas Edison - if it wasn't for him, we'd be watching television by candlelight.’ Milton Berle

2 Comments

So what's The Year of More Simplicity All About?

19/1/2016

6 Comments

I live a fairly simple life already.

But I want to simplify it even further.

I want to live with more intention.

I want to truly notice how I spend my time, energy, money and heart.

I want to make more mindful choices and decisions.

So what will I do to make that happen?

For the year of Twenty-Sixteen:

I will only wear clothing that is black, white, grey or blue. (Sooooooooooo sorry Green Coat!).

I will post all of my Happy Day photos to Facebook in B&W.

I won’t buy any books (I can’t believe I’m willingly going to do this for Another Year!).

I will finally read ‘Simplicity’ by Edward de Bono, which I bought at least five years ago.

I will keep the emails in my inbox (work and home) to less than twenty.

I will back-up my laptop at home once a month (this currently happens every three (aka, four or five) months or so).

I will make self-care a priority.

I will make joy a priority.

I will make my dreams a priority.

I will think about my intention whenever I say or do something (as much as is humanly possible).

I will think about my intention with every purchase I make… do I need it? do I love it? how much will I actually use it?

I won’t keep text messages in my phone unless I need them or they make my heart smile.

Each month I will choose four items of clothing to give away so at the end of the year I will have eliminated almost 50 items of clothing out of my wardrobe! (No Green Coat, you won’t be one of them, I promise).

I will continue to eliminate the word ‘busy’ from my vocabulary.

I will partake in some Colouring-In Joy every day.

I will let go of the unimportant.

I will write from my heart.

I will nurture those relationships which are good for my soul.

I will declutter my home and my mind.

I won’t say ‘yes’ to anything I truly don’t want to do.

I will not multitask*

Okay, so clearly I will Try to do all of these things but as I learnt during The Year of More, the fun and lessons are in the attempt as much as in the success that may or may not find its way to me.

In addition to all of this (as if that won’t be enough) I will do or give up something each month For the Duration of That Month. These are in no particular order; I will decide which one to do at the start of each month and they may even be replaced with more fabulous ideas along the way. (Note to self: Add ‘I will be flexible’ to previous list):

I won’t watch Netflix and I can watch movies on DVD but not TV shows (i.e. no binge watching!) [Side note: Even though I now probably have a fully functioning TV antenna after moving to my unit, I still haven't plugged it in and have now gone almost three years without watching regular TV.]

I won’t use my hair straightener - people with cowlick-afflicted fringes will understand why this one makes it onto The List.

I won’t eat any chocolate, lollies or ice-cream - oh dear, stay away from me that month.

I will give up coffee - just kidding, I don’t drink it so that would be blatant cheating!

I will only use my uber fab new iPhone 6S for making phone calls, texting and taking photos – no Internet, no Facebook, no Instagram, no nerdy notes, no music, no apps of any kind.

I won’t drink any alcohol - yes, including champagne.

I will only use one pair of reading glasses - I have four pairs – one in my bag, one beside my bed, one in the kitchen and one in the living room (which is hilarious if you knew how small my home is).

I will write in my gratitude journal and meditate every day.

I won’t use Facebook.

I will go to bed on Sunday to Thursday nights at 9pm.

I will watch nothing but TED talks. (Well, I won’t watch them continuously ALL month or anything because that would be ridiculous, but they’ll be the only thing I’ll watch if I do watch something.)

I will listen to nothing but The Beatles or classical music.

And last but not least, throughout the month of December I will do whichever one of the above challenged me the most, for another entire month.

Now, you may read this list and say, ‘Meh, I could do all of that easily’, but just imagine choosing ten or so things that would challenge you in some way.

Having said that, I haven’t necessarily chosen things that will be too challenging (for instance, I’m really looking forward to listening to nothing but The Beatles and classical music for an entire month), because my goal isn’t really to challenge myself for a whole year, as that would be exhausting.

And this may all seem quite complicated for a year focusing on simplicity BUT all of these things have something in common – they’re all going to provide me with the opportunity to be more mindful which is ultimately what it’s all about for me.

Being present is where the gold is.

When I’m mindful
I’m more relaxed
I’m focused on creating joy,
and finding happiness in The Little Things
I’m feeling positive,
and hopeful about the world
I’m aware that worrying won't change the outcome,
and I make better decisions,
which in turn mean my actions and words are more authentic
I feel more alive,
and I see the beauty in life with ease.

This year I have a plan to stay focused on the Positive and Joyful and Fabulous in my life, as I really feel as though I failed miserably at doing that for large chunks of last year.

And the impact was significant.

Significant for my sense of self
For my physical and mental health
For my relationships
And for my soul which felt a bit battered and bruised.

So what prompted me to do this?

Something happened which inspired me to embark on another 'The Year of More' adventure, which I'll explain soon, but before I get to that I want to say that I learnt an incredibly valuable lesson from the experiences I had last year.

I can’t control the events that take place around me or across the world.

But I can control my reaction to them.

I can’t control the actions, behaviours or words of other people.

But I can control my reaction to them.

I can’t control Life’s Little Frustrations.

But I can control my reaction to them.

And most of all, I can learn from the challenges, experiences and frustrations that Life brings my way.

If I choose to.

So I'll be using all the rainbows and lights at my disposal.

Okay, so on to the story of what happened to inspire me to do this. (I just love love LOVE where little kernels of ideas come from).

I got a new iPhone in December and I had trouble – lots and lots and LOTS of trouble – transferring everything from one phone to the other. iTunes just wouldn’t play nicely and I finally decided to pay some uber nerdy guy to transfer it all across. And even he had trouble and all I got were some of my contacts and random bits of my calendar (he didn't end up charging me as even his nerdy powers weren't quite super enough).

So I was left with No music. No messages. No nerdy notes squeezed onto those tiny little virtual sticky notes I adore so much.

Image from jantoo.com

So in the time it took to get my phone sorted – about a week – I took note of how I was feeling about it all.

I was frustrated I couldn’t use my fabulous new and expensive gadget straight away. I felt decidedly unsimplified carrying around three iPhones (I use my old old iPhone as my work phone), until I got it all sorted out. And I was ready to trade them all in for an old fashioned address book and notepad when I updated the operating system on my old phone (thinking that may have been the problem with iTunes not wanting to play with it), and lost all of the nerdy virtual-sticky-note notes I’d made since 2013! I use the notes section of my iPhone All The Time. I make notes about my Happy Days photos so I can keep track of which number I’m up to. I have super looooooong lists of books I’d like to read. I make notes for blog posts if I’m out and about and am Inspired by Words. And I use them for lots and lots of other nerdy things I'm a little too embarrassed to share with you right now.

And they were all gone.

Lost in cyberspace forever and ever and ever.

Image from http://full-trett-poker.blogspot.com.au/

So I suspected the universe was sending me some very strong messages about simplicity - to have less attachment to ‘things’, to not rely on cyberspace to keep lists and Words I Adore safe, and basically to look at how some things in life seem to become unnecessarily complicated.

Somehow we seem to accept and welcome some of these complexities into our lives without ever questioning their existence in our little world.

So I figured I could either forget all about it once my phone was sorted out and all was well in My Little Nerdy Phone World again OR I could learn a little something from the experience.

And just like that...

Image from slowrobot.com

The Year of More Simplicity was born!!!

I just love how we can learn from our frustrations and turn them into something positive which we will continue to learn even more from. It's like Life's domino effect.

So at the end of each month, I shall write a little (haha… we both know I don’t do short blog posts!) update on what I noticed during that month by giving up or doing something differently. And as usual, I'm sure there will be A Plentiful Supply of Random Thoughts shared with you along the way as well.

Perhaps I’ll find that some of these activities don’t simplify my life or make me more mindful At All. But hopefully others will.

We are so used to doing things a certain way and living life a certain way that we actually need to stop occasionally to ask ourselves if this is how we want to spend our time, energy and resources on the planet, so that's what I'm doing.

I'm stopping.

I’ll be back soon to let you know how I went with my task for January. (I'm more than half-way through and I'm doing surprisingly well... no, it's not giving up chocolate, lollies and ice-cream!)

Joyful hugs,

Karen xo

‘Nature is pleased with simplicity. And nature is no dummy.’ Isaac Newton

6 Comments

How much do you listen to your inner voice?

27/12/2015

6 Comments

I haven’t blogged much this year but before we dive blissfully into Twenty-Sixteen, I felt I should finish writing about what led me to sell my gorgeous Tree House, as people have been asking me how it came about when I adored living in that house as much as I did.

Well, I can give all the credit to The Year of More!

In November 2014 I started hearing a little whisper in my head saying, 'sell the house, sell the house'.

The Year of More had found its voice in a Major way. And I suspected it would only get louder and louder.

But I wasn't quite ready to listen to it back then so I replied with, ‘Are you serious Little Whisper, I’ve only been here for two years?!’.

I loved living in The Tree House. I loved how safe I felt there on my own. I loved the home I'd built within those walls. I loved the time and energy I spent decorating (yes, even painting one wall six times… it’s a long story!). I especially loved creating The Audrey Room and The Very Hungry Caterpillar Room. I loved the time I spent there with family and friends - the hugs, the laughter, the snorts, the champagne and yummy food. I had not one single unhappy memory from the two years I'd lived there.

Although Steve wanting to share the cushions on my daybed did unsettle me for a minute or two. Especially as he chose to make himself comfortable on a public holiday and lazing on the daybed was exactly what I had planned for the day!

Steve the Snake, I thought he’d be less intimidating with a person’s name. He wasn’t.

When I bought The Tree House in February 2013, I knew I didn’t need a 3-bedroom house with a family room and an enormous deck.

But I had fallen head over heels in House Love and knew I had to live there.

So live there I did.

And I loved every minute of it.

Oh, except for the early morning wake up calls via crazy birds continually tapping on my windows! They were Nutty McNutty those birds. Cute but nutty.

But The Year of More has quite simply been the best thing I've ever done in my entire life to identify what brings me joy and to create more of it.

So eventually I listened to the voice in my head.

As I mentioned in my last post, there were quite a few stressful moments along the way (despite the universe’s apparent commitment to making it happen) but when I finally signed the contract to sell the house (well, the contract that actually went ahead!) the butterflies in my tummy as I held that pen in my hand were of the excited variety rather than the terrified variety.

It just felt right.

As did my new lovely abode!

I found My New Home on the first day I went 'home shopping' - a cute little 32 year old unit a block from the beach.

It has everything I need and nothing I don't.

There is nothing excessive about it. Nothing fancy. Nothing large.

It's perfect for me.

It hugged me from the moment I walked through the door and I knew I wanted to make it my home. So I put in an offer that day. And about five long months later, I finally moved in!

I went from 189sqm to 82sqm - yes, that's how large The Tree House was. Which is quite a lot of space for one little person to live in hey? It's a little embarrassing sharing this with you actually.

But I have seen the error of My Wanting Ways!

I needed to do a lot of decluttering. A lot. Selling and giving away my belongings was exciting, fun and challenging at times, but it was also very, very time consuming.

And this move was definitely My Greatest Lesson Ever in Letting Go of Things.

At first I thought I would have to part with my zebra chaise lounge - one of my favourite places to relax with a book – but I put a lot of thought into what I wanted my new space to feel and look like (I even created a nerdy floor plan and drew in all my furniture – to scale of course) and I knew I would get more use out of Zebby than what I would out of my beautiful dining table.

Bye bye beautiful dining table

And bye bye comfy daybed, also one of my favourite places to relax with a book, even after Steve's attempt to make it his own.

Goodbye to my fabulously comfy lounge I bought three homes ago, we've had so many fun times and so many people I adore have shared that space with me. The leather has soaked in secrets and tears and grief and laughter and hugs and love.

Do you know the amount of words I’ve read and written, the great movies I've watched, the glasses of champagne I've consumed, the number of friends who've sat with me in that space? Oodles and oodles.

Stuff is just stuff but it also plays a part in building memories of our experiences.

I took with me what I need, use and love and everything else was sold or gifted with love and gratitude.

Gumtree was a wonderful way to sell my furniture. I met the loveliest people, everyone turned up when they said they would and only one person even wanted to negotiate the price.

I gave lots and lots and LOTS of things away too, which is always heaps of fun. My favourite things to give away were part of my Very Large Collection of Frames as I knew I wouldn’t have enough wall space for them in my new home. So I printed out quotes about ‘home’ to put in them and I donated them to the same organisation I donated my Christmas Tree to last year - IFYS (Integrated Family Youth Services) and my contact there said they would make lots of people very happy as the people they work with often don’t have many decorative items. It was so joyful dropping them off to her. I didn’t feel quite that much joy when people handed a wad of money to me after buying my couch or dining table or bed so this proved once again there is way more joy in giving things away than in selling them!

Frame Joy going to lots and lots of new homes!

It’s always an interesting process to let go… whether of things, a person, a self-belief or a dream. But we often receive messages confirming we’re doing the right thing and I received the loveliest Letterbox Joy from a friend who had absolutely no idea I was moving. She sent me the same quote I’d put on the wall of the Audrey Room but this new one was small enough to take with me. I cried when I saw what she’d sent as it was so incredibly special and the timing was perfect as I'd had a very stressful day and was wondering if it wouldn't just be easier to stay where I was rather than do all of this on my own. Audrey’s words (and my friend’s thoughtful heart… thanks so much Jenny) reminded me I was definitely making the right choice to move. And that I wasn't on my own, even if it felt like I was.

I don't generally make fabulous financial decisions - I make heartfelt, emotional ones which generally bring me joy (like buying The Tree House) but they're probably decisions most financial advisors - and my Dad - would shake their heads over. This blog explains how completely different my Dad and I are in that respect - http://www.theyearofmore.com/blog/have-you-ever-cheated-on-your-tax-return

So listening to that voice and deciding to sell the house took me by surprise as this was most definitely A Fabulous Financial Decision.

Once I got over the initial shock of The Year of More wanting me to sell the house, I felt the flutter of excitement in my tummy at the thought of relieving myself of half of my worldly possessions and having a smaller mortgage. And being close to the beach again! Oh how I’d missed being able to walk to visit my beautiful ocean.

This was taken on the day I made the offer on my unit – you can see my unit block from that very spot!

When I was a young girl, I didn't really daydream about weddings and babies (you can read about my low Bride-DNA experiences here - http://www.theyearofmore.com/blog/do-women-really-need-dresses) but I dreamt of houses (I especially dreamt of having a Barbie Dream House (and camper van!)) and gardens (despite my complete lack of a green thumb) and having a magnificent room to write books and draw in and having a house filled with animals.

I loved anything to do with houses. I spent hours playing with my dolls house (I never did get Barbie's Dream House or camper van) and when I got a bit older Mum and I would go and look at the display homes in new estates a few suburbs away. I dreamt of one day designing my own house so when I started working I would buy design magazines and fall in love with all the beautiful homes on those glossy pages.

I’ve moved homes more in the last eight years than what I did in the almost 40 years prior to that and each move has been for a different reason. Some moves were emotional, some were stressful and some were easy-peasy and everything came together effortlessly – oh how I love and appreciate those ones more now!

But every one of those moves has been a positive one, a decision that has enriched my life in some way, even if I didn't think so at the time. And although I've yet to design a house from the outside I have absolutely loved creating what that space will look and feel like on the inside.

I love living in My Little Unit by the Sea and I can honestly say it’s My Favourite Home Ever, which is saying something as I’ve lived in many homes I’ve loved to bits.

But being able to hear the ocean as I go to sleep; and to be able to see the ocean from bed. Well, it doesn’t get much better than that for me.

So here are some of my Moving Joy tips should you ever find yourself moving to a new abode:

An ironing board makes a great bubble-wrapping station if you've sold your dining table.
Buy used (but perfectly good) packing boxes from the Tip - 50 cents each and in such good condition!
Have a plentiful supply of your favourite snacks and beverages on hand.
Sell or give away everything which doesn't Spark Joy in your life - best decluttering method ever! For more about this go to http://konmari.com/en/
Give away things that you know will Spark Joy for someone else - giving is So Much Fun.
Be realistic when selling items - your goal is to sell them quickly so don't forget to factor in the Cost of Your Time if it takes a month and you have to spend hours waiting for potential buyers to show up.
Make sure The Universe and Your Vision Board are talking to each other and agree on the plan! This is of utmost importance.
Try not to move 3 days before a major work event. (But if that is the way it pans out, refer to No. 3 and quadruple the amount!)
Reflect on the joy that was created in the home you're leaving and feel that bubble of excitement about the joy you'll create in your new home.
Too exhausted to feel that bubble of excitement just yet? It will come, I promise.
Avoid moving on a Full Moon - emotional and physical exhaustion is multiplied by a gazillion. (However being able to see the magnificent moon from your new balcony will ease the pain somewhat.)

So I’m ever so pleased I listened to the little voice which said ‘sell the house, sell the house.’

Our intuition is incredibly powerful but we don’t always hear it. Or we hear it and doubt whether we actually heard or felt anything.

We don’t trust it enough.

I didn't realise what it was back then but my first experience of The Voice of Intuition was when I was ten years old. Mum and I were on our way to visit friends on the other side of Melbourne. All of a sudden I heard a voice in my head say 'tighten your seatbelt' so I did. At ten I was probably still prone to doing what I was told! And less than five minutes later a car went through a stop sign and hit the back of Mum's car and seconds after that we were both hanging upside-down in the car after it had rolled onto the roof from the impact.

As well as my intuition kicking in, Mum's Very Old car saved us that day.

The Wolseley.

I don’t have any photos of Mum’s car but this is what it looked like (Mum’s was dark green). It was a tough old thing. One of the police officers said the car had saved us from being seriously injured.

Photo from www.wolseleycarclub.com

Mum and I hung upside-down in that car for quite some time before the police arrived and were able to get us out. The car had those old fashioned seatbelts that you needed two hands to open, which is rather difficult when you’re hanging upside-down and have to use one hand to support yourself. I’ll never forget a young boy running up to the car and screaming ‘it’s going to blow, it’s going to blow’ and then running off. Petrol was spilling into the car so I can imagine his terror but he didn’t do much to alleviate the terror we were feeling that’s for sure. Mum had whiplash but overall we were fine and the car didn’t blow up but I was absolutely devastated to discover some of my precious library books were completely covered in petrol.

OH NO!!!

Poor little books

By the way, Mum drove that car for another five years after the accident. The doors on the driver’s side could no longer be opened so we had to get in the passenger side and slide across the bench seats. And there was an enormous dent in the roof so when it rained we had to make sure the windows were wound up or the roof would fill up with water and it would pour into the car whenever you went around a corner! Ah, I loved the utter uniqueness of that funny car.

That accident left me traumatised for a long time; I was an incredibly nervous passenger for many years afterward. I also put off getting my licence for a couple of years after I turned 18 and I had a ridiculous amount of lessons before going for my driving test (which I failed the first time because I was so nervous). When I did finally start driving on my own, it took me years and years to feel confident driving. I can’t imagine it now as I love driving but back then I had a very real fear of being in another car accident.

But I also received a wonderful gift that day. To listen to my inner voice. Things may have turned out differently if I hadn’t tightened my seatbelt just before the car hit us.

That was the same voice that led me to do The Year of More, which resulted in me selling the house, which means I now have more money for Creating Joy. Much much joy.

So I think I shall continue listening to it.

Thank you so much for joining me on this wonderful journey. Even though The Year of More officially ended way back in March, it didn’t feel right to leave this story unfinished.

I hope you’ll come on my next journey with me. Twenty-Sixteen is going to be The Year of More Simplicity and I cannot wait to see what that brings to my life!

Joyful hugs,

Karen xo

‘There is a voice inside of you that whispers all day long, 'I feel that this is right for me, I know that this is wrong.' No teacher, preacher, parent, friend or wise man can decide what's right for you - just listen to the voice that speaks inside.’ Shel Silverstein

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Have you ever lost your mojo?

2/9/2015

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Way back in February I started writing a blog post that was clearly Never Meant To Be.

That post was about how my biggest most spectacular saving during The Year of More was going to be selling my house and downsizing to a unit!!!

And how simple and fabulous that experience was.

What an amazing, amazing outcome of a wonderful year spent exploring exactly what I spend my money on and what happened when I put restrictions around that spending.

But buying and selling property this time around turned out to be anything but a simple and fabulous experience. It was all rather stressful and overwhelming and it left me drained for months and months. I still haven’t fully recovered.

My plan to have bought, sold and moved by the middle of March didn’t quite pan out and both properties ended up settling in May – smack dab in the middle of the start of the program I implement at work. A program that can be both draining and stressful on its own, so adding in a challenging housey experience almost tipped me over the edge.

I am a very capable woman and I am accustomed to doing things on my own – which is both empowering and overwhelming at times - but I am always – always – ever so grateful that I’m able to make big life decisions like buying and selling property on my own.

But this particular experience really knocked me down.

For the first time in a very very VERY long time, I felt I’d lost my mojo.

And for a rather large chunk of Twenty-Fifteen, I felt as though I'd lost KMY – I felt as though I’d lost what makes me ‘Me’.

I’m not sure I can sufficiently articulate what I mean by that as I’m not entirely sure what happened myself, but I guess the main thing I'd been feeling is a decided lack of joy.

And Joy Creating is definitely one of the things that makes me Me.

And my ability to seek - quite easily I might add - the positive in most situations.

Or to at least have the ability to unearth the lesson the situation is there to teach me.

I don't always 'get' the lesson of course – sometimes I fail miserably - but I can generally at least recognise what the lesson is.

I lost that ability too.

My ability to find joy in the smallest of things was also greatly diminished.

A bush turkey running awkwardly through the school grounds.

A rainbow.

A butterfly.

A hug.

I still experienced joy in these things but it was different.

It was duller.

It wasn’t as strong; as though I only had two senses experiencing it instead of all five.

I’ve been physically and emotionally exhausted.

I've been challenged by people and experiences that usually wouldn't bother me.

I would usually rise to the challenge and be thankful for the lesson they've presented.

This year I've lost faith in parts of my life and my world that I thought were rock solid.

The changes I've encountered haven't been massive or life threatening (thank goodness) but they've still had a significant impact on how I feel about my place in the world.

And my place in My World.

And the people who are in it.

There have been shifts in friendships.

Moments when I expected those I loved to be there and they weren’t.

My usually safe and solid foundation had shifted and it was unnerving.

At times I felt incredibly alone and lonely.

Although I live on my own, I don’t often experience loneliness so that’s been both fascinating and challenging to go through.

But loneliness is an inside job so I didn’t try to fill it with people. I sat with it, which was uncomfortable at times but I knew it couldn’t hurt me.

I know I am very loved and I know I’m not alone in this journey we call Life, but what I discovered is that knowing something and feeling it… really, truly, deeply feeling it, are two completely different things.

I’ll write more about this some other time but I’ve realised just how much our expectations – of both ourselves and others – impacts on our well-being and perspective.

That's just the way life works isn't it?

We are always learning, growing and evolving.

Even if we don’t think we are.

I thought I had a handle on embracing change.

But you know the feeling you have when you realise you're not as evolved or wise or compassionate as you thought you were?

You thought you'd forgiven yourself, or him or her or them.

You thought you'd dissolved the guilt, healed the pain and accepted 'what is'.

You thought you’d learnt and grown.

I thought I had the formula for happiness figured out…

I strayed off course and literally forgot how to reach the places that had become ever so familiar to me.

I felt like I’d reverted back to the Me that existed 15 years ago.

I felt as though everything I thought I’d learnt in that time was just an illusion.

That it hadn’t really existed at all.

I felt as though I hadn’t grown even one eensy-weensy teeny tiny little bit.

I felt as though I had happiness amnesia and I couldn't remember my way back.

So I started from scratch.

I prioritised my needs and obligations.

I had to function at work in order to support quite a few other needs and obligations so that became my Number One priority. And there were days when work literally sucked up all the energy I had. It still does some days.

I had nothing left over for anyone or anything else.

I wasn't sleeping well. I didn't have a full night's sleep in almost five months and it became my norm to wake up 4-6 times a night. When I got to the stage of only waking up 2 or 3 times, it was cause for Great Celebration!

Perspective really is everything isn’t it?

And a couple of weeks ago when I finally started sleeping through the night, I was giddy with excitement to hear my alarm go off because I had spent so many months waking up long before it was due to fulfill its mission of waking me.

I had suffered from insomnia years ago but thankfully it only lasted a short time, so this was quite different and had way more of an impact on my life.

I instinctively knew my body wouldn't cope with alcohol so up until a few weeks ago I hadn't had any alcohol since the end of April - my last Sunday night glass of champagne in The Tree House. (And yes, I was very concerned I might be thrown off the Champagne Olympic team but as no official word has been received from The Committee, I think I might be okay).

After celebrating the week with a glass of bubbles on Sunday night for almost 10 years, this was one of the most noticeable changes for me.

It's fascinating how the lack of something can have so much emphasis.

I even stopped sending my beloved Friday Funny email. An email I’d sent every Friday for more than twelve years*

For quite a while I couldn’t understand why I found even sending the Friday Funny overwhelming, given it’s something I love putting together each week and it isn’t difficult or strenuous to do. Recently I was telling a friend that I still don’t have the energy or desire to start sending it again and she very wisely commented that it’s probably because I put a little part of Me in the email every week and at the moment I just don’t have that little piece of Me to give. Sad but true I’m afraid.

I stopped writing entirely.

No blog. No stories. No words of note.

Expressing myself in words is such a huge part of being Me.

I wasn’t doing it.

I had nothing to write.

Nothing to share.

I didn’t think anyone would be interested in what I had to say about how I was feeling.

One of the changes I experienced this year was the end of my Writer’s Group. After five lovely years of sharing words and ideas and space with each other, I really miss having that creative impetus to arrange squiggly letters on the page.

A few weekends ago I went for a long walk and finally felt inspired to write this blog post. As I wandered through the bush with the ocean as my soundtrack, the words and sentences started falling over each other in their eagerness to be recorded and shared. It was the first sign of KMY I’d had in such a long time and it felt so lovely to have her revisit. The joy I felt in that moment was beautiful.

You know that feeling of something coming back into your life that’s been missing? Whether it’s good health or love or the return of your favourite snack on the supermarket shelves. It’s very joyous and the joy is actually more noticeable and powerful because we’ve felt the lack of whatever it is; we’ve felt its absence so we appreciate it that much more when it reappears.

It’s a strange feeling when you feel as though you’ve lost yourself isn’t it? I knew I hadn’t really lost myself but feeling as though I had felt so incredibly real.

And feeling uncomfortable in your own life or your own skin really does make you feel as though something is missing.

Over the last few months I’ve mostly spent what little energy I've had on being gentle with myself. Even on my best day, I could easily win Olympic Gold in the 'Beating Myself Up' event so I've been very proud of myself for not doing that.

Okay, so not doing that as much as I would have once done.

I've had very little motivation or desire to do all the social organising I usually do so I've had a plentiful supply of time to recharge and reflect. As an introvert, I adore doing this even when I’m filled with energy and feeling on top of the world so it wasn’t a stretch for me to spend even more time in quiet reflection.

I’ve loved spending time with friends one-on-one but have found larger groups quite draining. A drained, overwhelmed introvert is definitely not going to seek out parties or big group dinners as a way of feeling connected or energised!

Me too, Audrey… me too

I’ve limited my interactions with people, as I seemed to find myself continually saying or doing The Wrong Thing. Or at least that’s how I’ve viewed my behaviour because I’ve been so super sensitive to Absolutely Everything.

At times I wondered if I was depressed but I’ve been depressed before and it didn’t feel like that’s what was happening this time.

Was I hormonal?

I'm 47, so probably! But it didn't feel like it was just that either.

So where did my mojo go?

Was it washed out to sea with the tide?

Perhaps I accidently packed it in one of the many boxes I had lying around before moving?

Or I gave it away or sold it with all the worldly belongings I said goodbye to during my rather large downsizing process?

Or maybe the Evil Queen mistook me for Snow White (I did dress as Snow White at my sweet 16 birthday party) and cast a wicked spell over my mojo?

Or quite possibly I simply frightened it away by expecting Too Much Joy from life?

But surely there can’t be such a thing as Too Much Joy?

I will never believe that.

I know KMY is returning; I can feel her getting stronger and larger (and louder!) every day.

The joy is getting brighter and more tangible.

But I also know when you feel like this, it takes time to regain strength, confidence and general well-being so I’m still taking life very slowly.

When I go for my morning walk by the ocean near My New Little Home, I love watching the surfers doing their thing.

Waiting patiently for a wave to greet them.

I love the idea of surfing and honestly, it’s only my fear of sharks and a lack of ability that keeps me from doing it. Only.

I had a surfing lesson years ago on the Gold Coast. It was hard work. I found it impossible to go from lying on my board to the standing position in one elegant move. Every time I tried to, I would come crashing to my knees. Every Single Time. My knees were so bruised by the end of the day; and I still hadn’t stood on the board.

I am rather gravity-challenged I’m afraid. In gym class in high school, I would run toward that Blasted Stationary Horse Thingy, take one very inelegant jump on the little trampoline thingy (gym class was filled with ‘thingies’ which usually caused me pain) and crash into the front of the horse at great speed. Every Single Time.

Blasted Stationary Horse Thingy

So surfing is only calming at a distance.

It’s been so relaxing to watch them just ‘being’.

Not feeling as though they need to be doing anything other than what they’re doing.

Waiting. Mindfully waiting for Mother Nature to be ready to play.

What a glorious, glorious feeling that must be.

I’ll write more about finding My New Little Home by the ocean next time.

I’m not quite back to my usual self – the KMY I truly enjoy being – but I’m getting there and creatively arranging these squiggly letters on the page is a start.

A most lovely start.

Joyful hugs,

Karen xo

‘Home is a place we all must find, child. It's not just a place where you eat or sleep. Home is knowing. Knowing your mind, knowing your heart, knowing your courage. If we know ourselves, we're always home, anywhere.’ Glinda the Good Witch, The Wizard of Oz

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Do you love yourself?

16/3/2015

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Do you love the bumps and scars on your body?

Do you love the sounds you make when you talk and laugh?

Do you admire your brain for all it acts on, filters and retains?

Do you like the way you look when you walk or run?

Do you appreciate the amazingness that is your physical form?

Do you explore your personality and accept those quirks that make you ‘you’?

My role at work is to implement and support a mentoring program and at the end of the program, students (aged 13-17) and their mentors (aged 18 – 80!) often exchange cards and last year I got goose bumps as I read that a student had written that his 18-week experience had allowed him to discover a lot about himself and that he is now more able to understand what makes him ‘him’. I’m sure his mentor would have also gotten goose bumps when he read those words. The program is about young people having the opportunity to explore their career choices but I thought it was wonderful this young boy was able to learn so much about himself at the same time.

If I’d had a mentor at that age, I’m honestly not sure what I would have gotten out of the experience. I doubt it would have been anything as deep as knowing myself better as I was pretty oblivious back then (that’s a rather major understatement) and I wouldn’t have even realised that I was scared to go within to explore what made me ‘me’.

Being ‘me’ was something I crawled through with blinders on rather than skipped through with my eyes wide open. It would be another couple of decades before I was game enough to peel back the coat of uncomfortableness I permanently wore, to really see what was actually underneath.

That was too scary. Too confronting. Too real.

Living in my little world of denial was much easier.

I didn’t really like myself much as a teenager.

I was awkward socially. Loud. Abrupt. Unfiltered.

(Yes, I can still be all those things!).

My friends, who really knew me, loved me just as I was and I absolutely adored them for it. But around strangers I felt hideously self-conscious.

I didn't value individuality at all.

I wanted nothing more than to blend in with everyone else.

And I grew up in a house with a woman whose self-esteem was as low as mine so she didn't know how to help me see my beauty or greatness or potential because she’d never seen hers. It breaks my heart to think about that now.

It’s going to be incredibly difficult for a parent to do that if they didn’t have anyone to fill their self-esteem bucket.

I didn't realise back then that embracing my uniqueness was the key to it all. I thought - as many young people do - that I had to and wanted to, be more like Everyone Else.

I had no idea I was an introvert. Combining that with my Piscean propensity for daydreaming meant I spent a lot of time in my head attempting to escape the reality of the world I lived in.

The reality of the harshness of our world and the actions of the people in it.

I still do that now. It’s my coping mechanism. I have to believe there is more good in the world than bad or I would crawl into my little shell like a turtle and never come out.

I often wondered why I couldn’t be tougher. I wondered why I was so sensitive to absolutely everything around me. I wondered why I couldn’t be like Everyone Else.

Because we always think that Everyone Else has it together. We think Everyone Else never doubts themselves. Everyone Else knows it all and never makes a false move. Everyone Else totally rocks and their life is perfect!

Oh, wouldn’t it be lovely to be Everyone Else for a change?

I remember going to a self-esteem workshop when I was in my mid-thirties and when I walked into the room, I honestly thought I was in the wrong place because Everyone Else looked beautiful and whole and confident. Everyone Else didn’t look as though they belonged there.

At that workshop I met a lovely girl of about 14 who was there with her mum. We had to do an activity together and I told her how wonderful I thought it was that she was being encouraged to explore that side of herself at such a young age. When I was her age, I didn't even have the awareness that I had low self-esteem so I wouldn't have even thought about working on that part of myself. And I seriously had no idea who I was or what I really wanted until I reached my thirties. Okay, perhaps my forties. I bet that young girl now has a deep appreciation of who she is and as a result I don't doubt she is doing amazing things with her life.

Self-reflection is something that some people never do but it’s so incredibly powerful. It has been my greatest teacher.

I have met some amazing young people who have more wisdom than those three times their age and yet I do believe we become more self-aware, more wise and more ourselves as we grow older.

If we’re willing to learn and grown that is.

This post wasn’t supposed to be about self-esteem or wisdom. It was going to be solely about our physical appearance and how much money we spend on our outer self.

I love how blog posts, stories and life take their own turns and surprise even the author sometimes.

I bought face moisturiser last week and that made me ponder just how much money I've spent on All Things Beauty-Related over the last four decades.

When I turned 30 I decided to stop wearing foundation make-up because my theory was that if I didn’t wear it in my thirties, and started wearing it in my forties, I Would Look Amazing! Of course, by the time I got to forty, I was so used to not buying or wearing it that I couldn’t be bothered starting to wear it again. So I’ve very rarely worn foundation since my twenties which has saved me lots and lots of money I’m sure.

I have however spent lots and lots of money on other things body-related.

I’ve spent a small fortune on my eyes.

I wore glasses and contact lenses for many years and then about ten years ago I paid the equivalent of what I paid for my first car (more actually) to have laser eye surgery. It was definitely one of the best things I’ve ever spent money on but it was an expensive little endeavour.

Speaking of eyesight, it’s no coincidence that our eyesight starts to deteriorate as gravity takes hold of our faces and bodies.

I have one of those magnifying mirrors in my bathroom. You know the ones that magnify your pores, wrinkles, smile and sparkly eyes five times so you can pluck those out of control eyebrow hairs you seriously Don’t Even Notice without the aforementioned mirror?

These mirrors are not our friends.

They are not kind.

Or gentle.

They don’t have filters that soften our features.

They are harsh.

Realistic.

Unforgiving.

But you know what?

In a year’s time I will look into that same harsh, unforgiving mirror and wish I had the skin I had a year ago.

That is, the skin I have now.

So I decided quite some time ago that I would appreciate and value my skin as it is right now, because gravity will insist on hanging around and lines will continue to appear. My dimple will continue to lose its rightful place as the skin around it weakens its hold on that empty space on my cheek.

I’ve made a conscious decision to wake up each day, look in the mirror and be pleased with what I see. I’m going to love my older, less elastic, age-marked skin because wishing I had the skin I had in my twenties is pointless and lets face it, when I was twenty, I wouldn’t have appreciated my skin’s smooth, unlined, tautness as I would have been too busy wishing my eyes weren’t so deep-set or deriding the freckles which stood out and multiplied when I’d been out in the sun.

Sometimes we look back at photos and wish we had that skin again - or that body shape or that flexibility - but the truth is that we probably took it for granted when we did have it. We often neglect to appreciate our skin, our body and ourselves in the present moment. It’s only when we see them through the eyes of time that we finally feel their value and see their intrinsic beauty.

If I love my skin now, with its flaws, gravity-defying crevices and continual surprises, I will continue to love it for the rest of my life.

Oh, so that’s how it works.

Here’s an interesting 4-minute clip of people being asked what they would change about their bodies. The difference between what the adults and children say is extraordinary.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f0tEcxLDDd4

I would like to end with this gorgeously gorgeous story.

What's Prettier Than Freckles?

An elderly woman and her little grandson, whose face was sprinkled with bright freckles, spent the day at the zoo. Lots of children were waiting in line to get their cheeks painted by a local artist who was decorating them with tiger paws.

"You've got so many freckles, there's no place to paint!" a girl in the line said to the little fellow.

Embarrassed, the little boy dropped his head. His grandmother knelt down next to him. "I love your freckles. When I was a little girl I always wanted freckles," she said, while tracing her finger across the child's cheek. "Freckles are beautiful."

The boy looked up, "Really?"

"Of course," said the grandmother. "Why just name me one thing that's prettier than freckles."

The little boy thought for a moment, peered intensely into his grandma's face, and softly whispered, "Wrinkles."

Author Unknown

I just adore this story!

Embrace your freckles and wrinkles and everything in between.

Because ten years from now you’ll wish you had the skin you have now.

So why not love the skin you’re in. Every. Single. Day.

And love the person who lives and breathes within you.

The you safely enclosed and protected beneath your skin.

Joyful hugs,

Karen xo

‘I no longer look at every reflection of myself and see a map of disappointments. I see vigor, curves and force, an organic tumble of sensual, sexual energy. I stand straighter. I breathe deeper. My heart opens.’ Lise Funderburg

PS. Part of this post is from a story I wrote for my Writer’s Group called ‘Love the skin you’re in’.

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Have you ever given away something you’ve absolutely loved? (Part 2)

6/2/2015

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It’s taken a lot longer than I expected for some of my Karen-Joy-Mas gifts to make their way across the world!

But finally, the last gift has been received so I can share this post with you now.

What a wonderful time I had selecting gifts and people to send them to!

Below is a little bit about each gift, who I sent it to and why.

Day 1

The gift of The Christmas Tree that started it all! You can read Part 1 of this post here http://www.theyearofmore.com/blog/have-you-ever-given-away-something-youve-absolutely-loved-part-1 to find out who the Christmas Tree is now living with.

Day 2

Harry is a panda bear (you can’t use the word S T U F F E D in front of him) who was given to me by my flat-mates in London for my 22nd Birthday Joy Day, and I have loved him ever since.

I named him Harry as he was born in Harrods, and he’s very proud of that fact I might add. He may be 25 years old this year but he’s very young at heart. I dropped him off in a giant Christmas Bag to the door of my friend Debbie who absolutely adores pandas. I just knew she would love him as much as I do. I wrote a letter asking Deb to take good care of him and mentioned that he’s housetrained, enjoys watching chick flicks (although he may not admit to it) and that he absolutely loves giving and receiving cuddles.

I sat Harry down to explain he was going to a new home. He seemed okay with it.

Day 3

When I bought The Tree House almost two years ago, I hunted high and low for a Fabulous Chair for my Rather Large Bedroom but I couldn’t find anything I loved. So I ‘settled’ for this cute little red couch. It really wasn’t what I wanted but I did the impulsive thing and bought it anyway. I had been thinking of selling it but when I decided to do The Twelve Days of Karen-Joy-Mas, I thought it would be way more fun to give it away.

I rang my contact at IFYS again (see previous post) and asked if she knew any families who could use a Little Red Couch and once again I got goosebumps as she explained a single mum had just moved into a unit which was quite small, so they had been looking for a teeny tiny couch for her. Synchronicity is such a beautiful thing.

Selling Little Red Couch would never have given me goosebumps.

So although this gift wasn’t something I loved, it did cost quite a bit of money so giving it away was a lesson in making sure I truly do love something before I spend lots and lots of money on it.

Day 4

I met my beautiful friend Michelle in London more than 25 years ago (she is one of the friends who gave me Harry!) and she crept into my heart very very quickly. We lost contact for a long time until we reconnected on Facebook a few years ago. We may not see each other (she lives in New Zealand) but we ‘get’ each other, which is so very precious. I chose to send her this pendant because she sometimes doubts how truly magnificent she is (as we all do at times) so I wanted to give her something as beautiful as she is.

I also made her two ‘mixed tapes’, which she said her and her boys danced to in her living room the night her Letterbox Joy arrived! Picturing the joy in that living room brought the hugest smile to my face and heart.

Day 5

I bought this pink top more than ten years ago but I haven’t worn it for at least the last five years. And yet every time I have a wardrobe declutter, I can never bring myself to fold up its delicate material to give it away. I’m not quite sure why. Perhaps it reminds me of when my arms were slightly less flabby. Or perhaps I Had The Most Amazing Amount of Fun wearing it one night and my subconscious doesn’t want to let go of it.

So let go of it I did. Because that was the purpose of this little adventure. A grand lesson in non-attachment. And the first person I thought of when I held the top in my hands, was my gorgeous friend Jeannie. I wasn’t sure it would fit her as she’s absolutely tiny but she assures me it did! And I know it will look fabulous on her. You’ll have to bring it to this year’s Girl’s Weekend Jeannie :)

Day 6

My beloved elephant ring, which cost only $30, was the hardest of all twelve gifts to part with. I bought this ring just before I went to Africa in 2007 and I have worn it almost every day since then, including when I volunteered at the Mwaluganje Elephant Sanctuary in Kenya and then at the Elephant Nature Park in Thailand a few years later. Trust me when I say this little ring has had more contact with elephant poo than most pieces of jewellery ever will! (Mary, I cleaned it thoroughly before sending it to you I promise!).

I loved wearing it every day as it reminded me of the amazingly unique experiences I’d had on those two trips overseas. Being around elephants makes my heart truly sing. I adore absolutely everything about them. Yes, even their poo!

Who I would give this special ring to was a no-brainer because when I was in Tanzania, a lovely young Irish lass named Mary commented how much she liked the ring so I said I would send her one. But when I went back to the silver shop I’d bought it from, they no longer sold them. I hunted high and low for other elephant rings but none of them were as gorgeous as this one, with its little elephant family etched into the silver.

Before I left Tanzania Mary had given me a lovely pink scarf and I always felt bad that I had never sent her a ring. So this gift is definitely a case of ‘better late than never’! And I love that it has so much meaning behind it. She wrote a note saying she couldn’t believe I’d remembered the conversation we’d had all those years ago. It must be true that elephants never forget.

Bye bye little eles

Day 7

I don’t drink coffee and I very rarely drink tea (I know, I realise I’m definitely in the minority!) but I saw this Very Cute Teapot and Teeny Tiny Cups and I couldn’t resist buying them. Yes, even though I knew I probably wouldn’t use them very much.

Are you beginning to see why I felt the need to do The Year of More??

When I sat and looked at this Cute Little Tea Set, I immediately thought of my lovely friend Ange. Who loves tea. Truly loves it. And I knew she and her husband Rob would get heaps of use out of these little guys.

I just love knowing these will be used by dear friends who might think of me occasionally when they enjoy a cup of their favourite tea.

Day 8

I bought these cute bears during my trip to Canada in 2001. They were clearly born to live in Queensland!

Canada is close to my heart as my beautiful friend Lynn lives there so I have a few little pieces of Canada in my home. The bears were missing their other bear friends though so I thought they might like to go and live with my bear-loving friend Janice. Janice and her husband Graeme love to travel so I knew they would be happy to have a couple of international guests move in with them.

As you can see, they have fitted in rather nicely at Janice and Graeme’s house. The scarecrow could be Canadian but I’m not sure. Oh, the Scarecrow was from Kansas wasn’t he?! Perhaps he followed the Yellow Brick Road a little bit too far...

Spot the odd one out

Day 9

I fell in love with this Gorgeous Dress the moment I saw it in a quirky dress shop in Brisbane a couple of years ago. And I just had to buy it. I bought it to wear to the wedding of my lovely friends Leina and Holly and as I can no longer squeeze into the cherry-covered material, I decided to send it to one of the brides as I knew she’d love it. As it turned out, she loved it so much she already had the same dress!! So she asked if she could gift the dress to her sister as she knew she would cherish it and of course I said yes. I told Leina that I knew if I sent The Dress to her, it would find The Wardrobe It Belongs In and it did!

Day 10

I bought this pendant a few years ago as a birthday present to myself because I adored the beautiful words on it. It was quite expensive but I truly loved it so I didn’t mind spending the money on it.

I sent the pendant to one of the most amazing people I’ve ever known - my friend Ann in Melbourne. She is always there for me. Always. And my wish is that she will always drift happily filled with light and love because she brings so much light and love to the lives of those around her.

Day 11

This was My Gift of Love and Creativity! I had a little kernel of an idea to make a simple little book for my friend Lynda as I wanted to remind her Just How Loved She Is and Just How Amazing She Is. And I got a bit carried away and my little book ended up turning into A Fabulously Large and Fun craft project which kept me occupied for days! The Book of Lovely Lynda was fifty pages of love and friendship and I had the loveliest time putting it together. And watching her open it and look through its pages was the greatest gift for me.

So Much Creative Nerdy Fun!

Day 12

My very last Karen-Joy-Mas gift was something very precious. My time.

On Christmas Day I spent five and a half hours volunteering at a huge community lunch on the Sunshine Coast. It was a simply wonderful way to celebrate Christmas. I didn’t know anyone there but I met some absolutely lovely people (one of whom I have kept in contact with) and we had The Best Time setting everything up with love and joy, so that the 500 people attending would have a beautiful Christmas Day.

I do love me a shiny piece of tinsel!

Not everyone has a place to go on Christmas Day. Or they don’t have people to share the day with. So having somewhere that they are welcomed with smiles and hugs and a plentiful supply of yummy food is about as good as it gets.

There was a Slip and Slide which was definitely a winner on a very hot day and one of my volunteer roles was to monitor the Jumping Castle and the briefing we received was simply ‘to make sure kids don’t kill each other’… err, okay, I can do that!

It truly was a joy-filled day and it will be forever remembered as one of my favourite Christmas Days ever. I will definitely do it again.

Knowing that These Gifts of Joy will be used and worn and cherished (and hopefully re-gifted at some stage to keep paying the joy forward!), is worth so much more than the money I might have received had I sold them all.

Money doesn’t have a life or a heart.

It doesn’t dance in a living room.

Or drink tea.

Or give big furry cuddles.

We need it to survive and to enjoy life but imagine if everyone re-gifted a few Things of Joy rather than buying New Things? We’d save money, we’d help the environment and eventually we’d truly understand that the gift is really in the love with which it’s given, and not the gift itself.

There's a difference between re-gifting something you don't like or that didn't cost much and selecting something you love or value and giving it away. It's challenging. But the person who receives it, knows how much love comes with it so they appreciate it that much more.

Thanks to those of you who were part of Karen-Joy-Mas - it was so lovely sharing in your reactions and I just adore that The Year of More keeps providing me with opportunities to create more joy, not only for me but also for other people.

I can't believe how excited you all were to be the recipients of secondhand goods!

When I started The Year of More in March 2014, I knew this experience was going to be wonderful but I had no idea just how wonderful it would be. And how much it would have a positive impact on my life. It has been truly life changing in so many different ways.

And I will be finishing The Year of More in March with a huge bang! More about that next time lovely peeps. (But no, I'm not going to do an Oprah and give my car away or anything!).

Joyful hugs,

Karen xo

‘It's not how much we give but how much love we put into giving.’ Mother Teresa

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How do you feel about the arrival of a Brand New Year?

2/1/2015

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I really adored Twenty-Fourteen. In fact, it was one of My Favourite Years Ever.

I think The Year of More had a huge amount to do with that because other than embarking on That Particular Little Adventure, life was pretty much the same as it usually is.

The Year of More made me focus on what I was spending my money, time, energy, thoughts and emotions on, and best of all, it gave me the opportunity to shift that focus in order to feel more joyful, more balanced (which is always my No. 1 Goal in Life) and more content. And having more money in my bank account at the end of the year was a particularly lovely bonus!

Nothing major happened in my life in Twenty-Fourteen – I didn’t experience any fabulously wonderful major life events or reach any important milestones. I didn't do anything terribly exciting and I thankfully didn’t have any major challenges but I grew in so many small ways.

I let go of a lot of 'stuff' - both in my emotional and physical worlds.

I gave more – more of myself, more money, more time – and I was surprised and overwhelmed by just how much joy that brought into my life.

Even more important than that, I had a very peaceful year.

And being peaceful of mind, peaceful of spirit and peaceful of heart is about as good as it gets isn’t it?

I stumbled across the following which I wrote in my first Friday Funny email for Twenty-Fourteen which made me smile: ‘Last year I felt I was quite reactive to life and what was happening around me sooooooo this year I have decided to be ridiculously proactive. I shall be creating joy Left Right and Centre which is rather exciting! I have no idea quite what that joy will involve at this moment in time but I'm confident it will be exquisitely lovely.’

And something funny definitely happened on the way to Twenty-Fifteen.

I felt quite different at the end of the year than I usually do. The high level of contentment I felt on 31 December 2014 has often eluded me as other years have come to a close.

Previously, I’ve felt as though I hadn’t achieved enough.

Loved enough.

Given enough.

Lived enough.

Been enough.

There can be a lot of pressure on us sometimes to Become Better People the following year, as though we’re not already Good Enough.

But I didn’t feel like that at all this time. Which was most lovely.

And I didn’t feel as though the end of the year was a big deal or anything. I felt as though Twenty-Fifteen is simply going to be a lovely continuation of last year. Which of course it will be. That’s how life works. One minute at a time, one hour at a time, one day at a time, one year at a time.

But we tend to put so much emphasis on A New Year as though it wipes the slate clean and we get to start over again.

But we can only live one moment at a time and each of those moments comes with the opportunity to fill it with awesomely good stuff. And I obviously don’t mean material stuff, I mean the truly meaningful stuff - love and generosity and wisdom and joy.

Or sometimes we say ‘I had a crap year’ or ‘I can't wait for this year to be over’ which is kind of sad as we’re basically writing off an entire year of our lives.

Some years we want to rush through in order to open a Brand New One to see if it’s going to be kinder to us. To see if good things will happen, rather than bad. But it’s a shame when we write off a whole year even when there may have been some pretty major challenges for us during those 365 days.

The year my Mum died or the year I got divorced weren't the worst years of my life. They were huge life changing experiences which challenged me significantly, but as difficult as those experiences were, they were wrapped in so many moments of love and growth and gratitude.

I have never had to search for inner strength and guidance the way I did after my marriage failed and I have never felt so loved as I did when Mum was diagnosed with cancer and passed away just three weeks later. My beautiful family and friends – both near and far - were incredible in their heartfelt support and their love literally kept me going as I sat by Mum’s bedside and watched her body and spirit fight to stay here with us.

I was surprised at the time that I could actually see and feel the blessings along the way. And I am forever grateful I could recognise and acknowledge them for what they were. Because sometimes we miss them – we expect blessings to be Grand and Mighty but they can be disguised as a hug, a flower, a sunny day, a good night’s sleep or a simple word or two.

Blessings are the Little Things we often don’t value enough.

For me, Twenty-Fourteen was filled with Many Little Blessings, which made it an extraordinary ordinary year.

So as the New Year rolled around, I didn’t feel any desire whatsoever to make New Year’s resolutions or set any goals for this year – I am simply going to continue doing what I did last year – spend less money on ‘things’ and find the joy in My Every Days.

Anything else that comes along will be a delightful bonus.

Usually there would be at least one major goal I would set for the next twelve months – to be healthier, to find a partner, to be more adventurous, to eat less sugar or to finally fix the towel rail in my bathroom. If any or all of these things happen to take place, great! But if not, I’m sure my year won’t be any less fulfilling.

I hope you’ve taken the time to reflect on your blessings from Twenty-Fourteen, even if they were a little bit hard to find at times. But I promise you they will have been there. And they will be there again this year. I hope you notice them as they reach out to embrace you during those tough moments.

And please peel back each day of Twenty-Fifteen knowing You Are Enough just as you are.

Joyful hugs,

Karen xo

‘May your coming year be filled with magic and dreams and good madness. I hope you read some fine books and kiss someone who thinks you’re wonderful, and don’t forget to make some art – write or draw or build or sing or live as only you can. And I hope, somewhere in the next year, you surprise yourself.’ Neil Gaiman

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Have you ever given away something you’ve absolutely loved? (Part 1)

25/12/2014

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Hi, my name is Karen Young and I'm not very good at selling things.

But I am exceptionally good at Giving Things Away!

After the Brisbane floods in January 2011, I gave away most of my furniture. I had just moved into my little beach house at Scarborough and I still had a house full of furniture I’d bought with my ex-husband a gazillion years before, so I thought it was definitely time for Some New Stuff.

Sadly, the floods left thousands of people in South East Queensland without their worldly possessions so I was able to donate my goods and chattels to those who needed them most. If there is a time to assess how much stuff you have in your life, it’s when others have lost Every Item They Own.

It really puts in perspective just how many things we have in our lives doesn't it?

So it kind of made sense that The Year of More might involve a fair amount of Giving Away Things as I seek to declutter my life – both emotionally and physically.

I have donated Quite a Lot of Bags of clothes, linen, CDs, DVDs and books to charity over the last few weeks…

Worldly belongings patiently awaiting their fate

… and as I was going through the house, I looked at my Christmas Tree hidden away in its big white box and decided it could better fulfill its Mission in Life in a house where it will be loved and valued more than it does in The Tree House (where I’ve yet to put it up!).

So I rang my lovely contact at IFYS (Integrated Family & Youth Services) in Maroochydore to ask if she knew of anyone who might like to Adopt a Christmas Tree and she had been working with a young family who had been homeless for quite some time and they had just moved into a unit. When she said their young boy had never had a Christmas tree, I got goosebumps and knew I had found the right family.

And Christmas Tree, well he was rustling away with excitement in his box that’s for sure!

As it would be wrong to give away a naked tree, I also donated a box of some of the gorgeous decorations I’ve collected over the years.

Bye bye Very Cute Things

As so often happens (to me anyway!), one little idea grew into a Much Bigger Idea and Karen-Joy-Mas was born!

I decided I was going to happily give away One Item I Loved or Greatly Valued (i.e. it cost a lot of money!) for twelve days in the lead up to Christmas. As well as being fun, it would be a grand lesson in non-attachment.

I must admit I found it difficult to part with some of the items I chose.

But that was the whole idea.

To challenge myself.

Because I’m not sure I’ve actually ever given away anything I’ve loved before.

I’ve bought gifts that I’ve adored (and just quietly, would have been happy to keep for myself rather than giving them as presents!). But I’m not sure I’ve ever given away something I absolutely love and highly value. And not necessarily because it’s worth a lot of money but because it has special meaning or memories attached to it.

One of the items I gave away only cost $30 but it was the hardest of all twelve to part with.

As some of the items are still in transit I’m not going to share what they were until I know they’ve all been received as I don’t want to spoil anyone's surprise.

Besides, a couple haven’t yet been sent – it appears my ‘twelve days in the lead up to Christmas’ may be a bit of a stretch so perhaps ‘twelve days around about Christmas and New Year’ may be more apt!

Although I can tell you that Karen-Joy-Mas Gift No. 12 was Giving My Time. Which is what I did today. I'll share more about that lovely experience in Part 2 of this Blog post.

One of the most wonderful things about Karen-Joy-Mas was thinking about who to send what to. Some of them were obvious but other things I simply sat with until a person’s face came to mind and some, like the Christmas Tree, went to random strangers.

As I was surveying My Worldly Possessions, I thought about the things I couldn't possibly ever give away.

My Very First Teddy Bear...

Look at me rocking my Elvis hair!

Here’s Blue Bear now…

Slightly faded but ever so cherished

The $4 snow globe I searched all over New York for. I shake it almost every day as it sits near my CD player. It represents a dream come true.

A cushion a gorgeous friend embroidered for my 45th Birthday Joy Day.

My childhood copy of ‘The Wishing Chair Again’ (not sure what happened to my copy of ‘The Wishing Chair’!) with my cute 11-year old handwriting on the inside which says, ‘This book belongs to Miss Karen Owen, 1979’. I was surprised to find it didn’t have a little paper pocket inside the back cover with one of the homemade library cards I used to make tucked inside it. So nerdy!

My copy of the London A-Z I used Almost Every Day for 18 months.

Jewellery which belonged to my Mum and grandmothers.

Dad’s mother’s rose gold bracelet which would be about 80 years old.

Mum’s wedding ring and her Mum’s wedding ring. Little gold circles of love.

And this little stuffed bunny a young boy gave me ten years ago after granting his wish to go to the snow (and the Letterbox Joy he sent was pretty spesh too so I framed it).

It’s not many things really is it?

In an entire house full of things.

Because most of them are Just Things. Things we use, things we love, things we value, but at the end of the day, they really are just things.

As I also adore Giving Away Words, here’s a little story I wrote a couple of years ago from the perspective of a Christmas Tree (be warned, he’s a grumpy little thing!).

‘Oh Christmas Tree.

You’ve got no idea what it’s like to only be used for a week or two each year, no idea!

I would give anything to be an ‘every day’ tree, one who gets to be there for every family occasion and not just at Christmas time when, let’s face it, they’re all tired, stressed and have quite obviously been hit with the crazy stick. And the kids! They don’t even notice me; they notice the shiny round ornaments that hang off my branches and the brightly wrapped packages beneath me but they don’t really see me.

Imagine being there, but feeling as though you’re never actually seen?

And every Christmas I get grumpier and grumpier and feel less and less like standing tall and proud. I can’t actually remember the last Christmas I felt jolly and joyfully bounded out of my prison of a cardboard box into the living room.

The other gripe I have is that it’s all about Santa Claus. What people don’t realise is that he has a tribe of elves doing all his work for him! Yes, I know you’ve heard of Santa’s elves but I don’t think you understand just how much they DO. Everything! Absolutely everything! Santa’s gotten so huge these days (and I’m not referring to his public adoration!) that his doctor often confines him to complete bed rest around Christmas because it’s 'such a stressful time of the year'! Bah humbug, I’ll give him stressful! Try being a tree with abandonment issues and a fear of the dark who is squashed into a cupboard for fifty weeks of the year!

And don't get me started on that show-offy angel that steals all the limelight! What a pretentious gadabout she is, prancing about like she’s Queen of the World. If it weren't for me she'd be nothing. N O T H I N G!!!!

Oh how I wish I were one of the Christmas trees of yesteryear that were elegantly decorated with candles, nuts and fruit. Now it’s all about unbearably hot lights that make my branches wilt and cheap tinsel. Do you have any idea how ridiculously itchy tinsel is? Growing up, I daydreamed of being the chosen Christmas tree in Piccadilly Circus in London or outside the Rockefeller Centre in New York. They’re the gigs all us self-respecting Christmas trees long for. But no, I’m just like every other run of the mill 6-foot tall tree you buy in a department store. Apparently I’m not unique or special enough to be on display in such a public place. It appears my destiny is to be crammed into a suburban living room with no ventilation and barely any possibility of ever being seen by anyone who might actually appreciate my natural beauty.

Okay, okay, I know I’m an artificial tree but I do look about as natural as they get these days. I’m not one of those fibre-optic trees that come in all sorts of colours – what a load of hogwash!

Trees are green. End of story.'

Hope you’ve had yourself a Merry Little Christmas lovely peeps. If you don’t have an item you adore to give away this Christmas, just give away your love as that’s the most precious gift of all.

I'll be back with Part 2 very very soon!

Joyful hugs,

Karen xo

‘Kindness in words creates confidence. Kindness in thinking creates profoundness. Kindness in giving creates love.’ Lao-Tzu

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Does Christmas stress you or delight you?

11/12/2014

4 Comments

Do you believe in Santa Claus?

Sorry, I’m not sure why I wrote that.

Of course you do.

Why wouldn’t you?!

As a child I had the HUGEST belief in Santa.

And Christmas was a pure delight.

I drove Mum and Dad nuts because I would wake up soooooo early on Christmas morning to find out what Santa had left for my brother David and I. David was slightly (okay, massively) less interested than I, and despite my many attempts to drag him out of bed in the wee hours of the morning to share in My Christmas Glee, he always preferred to catch a few more zzzzzzzz’s instead.

Not I.

I would run into the lounge room where our Gigantic Paper Sacks would be sitting filled to the brim with goodies that Santa had left. I’m making them sound like extra large brown paper lunch bags or something but they were glossy and white and stood 3-feet tall and had fabulous drawings of Santa on the front and well, they were just superb.

Despite my state of excited giddiness, I would kneel in front of my bag and very carefully pull gorgeously wrapped gift after gorgeously wrapped gift from it so as not to tear the bag, and I would neatly place my presents in a pile on the carpet.

The novelty of Christmas morning never wore off.

In fact, I’m pretty sure as I got older, I started getting up earlier and earlier – that will teach Mum and Dad for sending me to bed early on Christmas Eve with the warning that ‘Santa won’t be able to visit if I’m still awake’!!!! I bet parents wish they could use that line every night to get to their kids to go to sleep.

After neatly piling up my Items of Joy, I would patiently wait for everyone else in the house to finally get up so we could Open Our Presents.

Sorry, that’s not even slightly true. I would make lots and lots of noise until they all gave up their futile attempts to sleep in and came to join me.

My excitement level probably reached its peak once I’d opened a couple of presents and realised that Santa had indeed read my letters sent lovingly to the North Pole! (With a real stamp of course! A young girl’s love of Letterbox Joy has to start somewhere).

I loved that he drank the milk and biscuits we left out for him. Although at some stage Santa must have written to Mum to let her know he'd prefer beer and peanuts, and a new tradition began.

I particularly loved that he managed to survive his journey down our chimney despite the fact we changed from an open fire to a gas heater.

Santa must study engineering during the quieter months.

And quite distressingly, I can still vividly remember the day my brother David told me that Dad was in fact Santa. I was all for him getting his Christmas Glee On finally, but did he have to do it that way?

But how absurd to think that Our Dad could be The Santa.

It makes no sense whatsoever. Dad did shift work in a petrol refinery, he didn’t have time to fly around the planet with a bunch of reindeer climbing up and down chimneys.

Besides, he often worked night shift on Christmas Eve and we all know that’s when all the serious Santa action takes place.

I never did find out why David lied to me.

For some reason older people want younger peeps to Stop Believing in Santa.

But perhaps if we didn’t, there would be less consumerism at Christmas and people wouldn’t get quite so stressed.

Instead of using up the world’s resources making more toys and electronic gadgets, his role would be to deliver hugs.

To bring people together.

To encourage people to make something for their loved ones.

Or to do something for someone they love.

Or even better, do something for a total stranger.

A gift doesn’t have to be tangible to be extraordinary.

That way the families who don’t have any spare money for Christmas presents – and unfortunately that is more families than you can imagine – can still enjoy sharing the magic of Santa with their kids. Hugs are free and one size truly does fit all.

There is more than enough stuff in the world. We don’t need any more stuff.

And yet Christmas seems to have turned into The World’s Biggest Shopping Festival.

In Australia alone, more than 15 billion dollars is spent on Christmas each year. Wow. Eight billion of that is spent on Christmas presents and the Boxing Day sales ensure a few more billion are spent On More Stuff once Christmas is over.

A nerdy stat I could barely believe is that in 2011, 2.6 billion dollars was spent around the world Just on Christmas Wrapping Paper.

On wrapping paper. The stuff that’s wrapped around the stuff that’s being given.

That just hurts my head.

And the environmental nerd in me starts wondering how much of that paper was actually reused or put in a recycling bin!

There is a Christmas tree in a hotel in Abu Dhabi which cost more than $11 million dollar - $10,000 for the tree, $11.5 million for the jewels (do they not have $2 shops in Abu Dhabi to pick up a bit of tinsel???!!!) and presumably the remainder is made up of the wages of the four security guards who constantly monitor the tree.

How incredibly ridiculous.

I seriously think the world has its priorities totally screwed up.

Imagine how much Good that $11.5 million could do around the world at Christmastime?

How many meals it could put on tables.

How many vaccines it could provide.

How much safe drinking water people could have access to.

How many schools could be built to provide much-needed education.

Not to mention how less stressed the people in Lands of High Consumerism would be.

I don’t think some people realise they actually have control over What They Do For Christmas.

It’s not mandatory to spend more money than you have on presents.

Presents for people who will also be spending money they don’t have to buy you something.

It just doesn’t make any sense.

If you can afford it, great. But if not, give hugs, write a letter telling someone how you feel about them, cook them a meal, make them a gift, re-gift something you received last year but didn’t love or use (yes, I’m a fan of re-gifting!) or simply spend time together.

It’s not mandatory to Spend a Fortune and Be Completely Stressed throughout the month of December.

It’s a choice.

A few years ago I was doing food shopping early in the morning on Christmas Eve and another customer in the fruit shop was completely wigging out on the phone at 7.15 in the morning! Oh my goodness, can you imagine how stressed she would have been by midday? I’m fairly certain her family would have had to sedate her at some stage throughout the afternoon.

And she made me want to leave the country and go and lay on a tropical island somewhere to get away from it all. You can feel the stress in the air around Christmas and there is a particularly plentiful supply in shopping centres as people frantically race around buying things and generally adding to their already high stress levels.

The spirit of Christmas seems to be trapped underneath all the wrapping paper.

One of my favourite Christmases ever was spent in Mexico. I flew over there on 6 December so I missed most of the Crazy Goings On in the Land of Consumerism which was absolutely wonderful, and it was so lovely to spend time in a country where dodgy fireworks were the norm (they were so cute… they pretty much fizzled out before they got very high in the sky!) and where joy permeated the air rather than stress. That year we drank beer on the beach on Christmas morning and had The Most Amazing Häagen-Dazs ice-cream ‘meal’ for Christmas lunch! It was definitely my kind of Christmas.

Traditional Christmas Lunch in Some Parts of the World

Although I have always had a deep love affair with All Things Christmassy, that changed significantly for me in 2011 when Mum passed away. I knew Christmas would be different and at the time, I truly wanted to believe we could create wonderful new traditions, but that proved to be harder than I’d ever imagined.

The first Christmas without her – just two and a half months after she died – I flew to Melbourne and was slapped in the face with just how different it was going to be. Dad hadn’t wanted to put the Christmas tree up and without Mum’s special little touches around the place, it didn’t feel like Christmas at all. It was so sad walking into the kitchen and not seeing Christmas tree-shaped bowls filled with Christmasy-shaped lollies and then walking into the lounge room and not seeing the familiar tree displaying decorations which had witnessed all of our family Christmases.

There were sooooooo many memories tucked inside those shiny little baubles which remained packed away in a cupboard.

I understood why Dad didn’t want to put the tree up but my heart broke a little bit more that day and I found it almost unbearable. It just wasn’t Christmas without her.

My favourite Christmas photo

We had decided to go out for lunch as we thought it would be too hard having lunch at home but even that was to prove rather challenging. When we arrived at the restaurant, we were seated at a table for four - can someone please build triangle-shaped tables for just these occasions - where the empty chair served as a reminder of why we were there in the first place. As if we needed a reminder. I felt like crying the entire time we were there. It was an excruciatingly long Christmas lunch.

As it turned out, a new tradition hadn’t quite equated to a happy one. That day I vowed I would never spend another Christmas in Melbourne.

The next day, a gorgeously generous friend of mine put on another Christmas lunch for me – the whole shebang, turkey, pudding, presents, she thought of absolutely everything - and I sat at the table surrounded by her family with tears streaming down my face because I was so touched by the effort she’d gone to. To this day, it’s one of the loveliest things anyone has ever done for me.

A gift of the heart indeed.

The following year, Dad and David flew up to spend Christmas with me at the beach house and we actually had a really lovely day. It was very low key but it was great to sit out on the deck enjoying a few beers after a yummy lunch. I had accepted Christmas would never be the same but I was grateful I got to spend it with my Dad and brother and that Dad had a huge smile on his face and we'd shared lots of laughs.

Me and Rudolph taking selfies

This year the boys aren't going to come up to Queensland so I won’t see them which will be a bit strange, but I still can’t imagine spending Christmas in Melbourne so it really wasn’t an option for me to go down there.

Maybe some Christmas in the future I will. But not yet.

Friends have invited me to spend Christmas Day with them which is so very sweet but as much as I love them, I don’t feel that’s where I belong this year. So I am hopefully going to volunteer at a huge lunch held on the Sunshine Coast each year for the homeless and for people who don't have family to spend it with (or perhaps like me, they've decided not to spend it with their family for whatever reason). Christmas Day can be one of the loneliest or toughest days of the year for many people so it will be lovely to be part of something which brings people together.

I also have a little project I’m working on called ‘The Twelve Days of Karen-Joy-Mas’ which I was inspired to do after deciding to donate my gorgeous Christmas Tree (and decorations – you can’t give away a naked tree!) to a family who have been homeless for a long time. They’ve just moved into a house and I know they will get way more joy out of it than I will.

I have my own gorgeous little Christmas Tree and this is all I need.

I know there are debates out there in Parenting World about whether parents should perpetuate the Santa Lie (Lie? What lie???!!!) and as I’m not a parent I can’t really weigh in on that particular debate. However, I was a child who deeply, madly, heart-and-soul believed in Santa, imaginery friends, magic and all things make-believe and I'm sure it didn't negatively impact on me in any way to have those beliefs. If anything, it helped to fuel my imagination and explore my creative side. It got me to think outside the square before I even knew what that meant. And I definitely don’t feel as though I was emotionally scarred by my parents ‘lying’ to me about Santa. (Lie? What lie???!!!).

And if parents say to their children ‘Santa is real if you believe he’s real’, then that’s not a lie is it?

My friend Holly has two beautiful little boys and her eldest son Max (he’s three) had the following conversation with his Mum recently:

Holly: Max why are you out of bed?
Max: Mum I am a bit worried about something.
Holly: What are you worried about mate?
Max: Well what if Santa can't find me at the beach house? Do you think he has a GPS?

After Holly assured him Santa and the reindeer have the most up-to-date GPS system on their sleigh, Max went back to bed. But he got up again later to tell Holly that they need to leave some gloves out for Santa so his hands can be warm when he gets back to the North Pole!

I hope the lead up to your Christmas is awwwww-filled and stress-free.

And if anyone ever tells you Santa isn’t real, just smile and nod and play along. Santa knows we believe in him and that’s all that matters.

I will leave you with My Very Favourite Christmas Quote from One of My Favourite Authors, Dr Seuss. And I shall post more about ‘The Twelve Days of Karen-Joy-Mas’ very soon!

Joyful hugs,

Karen xo

‘And the Grinch, with his Grinch-feet ice cold in the snow, stood puzzling and puzzling, how could it be so? It came without ribbons. It came without tags. It came without packages, boxes or bags. And he puzzled and puzzled 'till his puzzler was sore. Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn't before. What if Christmas, he thought, doesn't come from a store. What if Christmas, perhaps, means a little bit more.’ Dr. Seuss

4 Comments

What have you done because everyone else was doing it?

8/11/2014

4 Comments

So, I’m more than seven months into The Year of More and I realise there have been a Number of Confessions along the way so I thought we should talk about that a bit more (no pun intended).

I haven't exactly kept to some of my goals for The Year of More as I’ve obviously done things which have resulted in the abovementioned confessions.

I’ve bought four items of clothing – a black skirt for work, a dress to wear to a fancy dress party (which I didn’t end up wearing as I was sick and couldn’t go out to have fun) and two pairs of tights. Oh, okay, and a pair of tog/bather/swimmer bottoms as my others were a tad too snug (too much information??).

And they were too snug due to all the chocolate and ice cream I boldly declared I wouldn’t buy.

I’ve also bought a DVD. Okay, so I’ve bought two DVDs. You have this way of just getting this information out of me! The first DVD I bought was ‘Before Midnight’ (you can read all about that here http://www.theyearofmore.com/blog/how-much-would-you-pay-for-love) and the second one was another copy of ‘Enchanted’ as my current copy got stuck inside my DVD player and never came out again.

And the reason why I couldn’t possibly wait until the end of The Year of More to buy another copy is because ‘Enchanted’ is the movie Mum and I were watching as I sat holding her hand the night she passed away. Well, I was watching it and telling her what was happening. I’d bought a copy to give to her but sadly, she was unconscious by the time I arrived in Melbourne so she never got to watch it.

I know how much she would have absolutely loved that movie so I watch it every year on her birthday and anniversary. And on other random days when I just feel like watching it. I know it’s silly but it makes me feel close to her. When I was a little girl, one of my absolute Favourite Things To Do, was to spend Saturday afternoon cuddled up on the lounge with Mum as we watched movies on TV. Our favourites were musicals but we both loved a good western as well. And musical westerns, well they were just the bees knees.

By the way, I know I could use the acronym TYoM so you don’t have to read The Year of More in full each and every time but I really like using Full Words. Sorry. I usually write ‘laugh out loud’ too. And ‘oh my goodness’. I just love full written words. It’s such a shame they’ve all been shortened by The Text Message Monster.

Okay, so all these confessions got me thinking about when we say we’re going to do something and we don’t.

Or when our goals don’t exactly turn out how we might have intended.

Or when we set ourselves a goal that is simply unrealistic.

It’s not that I’m unhappy or disappointed with what I’ve done so far during The Year of More.

I’m more aware of where my money goes.

I’m saving more money than I usually do.

I have created The Most Kick Ass Spreadsheet with each day’s expenditure nerdily listed in it.

I’m wearing clothes I haven’t worn in ages.

I’m not spending as much time shopping.

I’m decluttering and donating unused items.

I’m enjoying nurturing my inner child by drawing on my blackboard.

I’m having an enormous amount of fun writing to you about all of my quirky goings on.

And most importantly, I have created more Joy in My Life, which was definitely one of my major goals.

I’d like to tell you a story.

As you may know if you’ve read my post about my childhood typewriter Ollie (http://www.theyearofmore.com/blog/have-you-ever-taken-a-drop-in-pay-in-exchange-for-greater-job-happiness) I never had a bike as a child. In fact, not only did I not own a bike, I never actually learnt to ride one. I have a vague recollection of someone trying to teach me but I was so wobbly and fearful, I suspect they gave up. Okay, so it was most likely me that would have given up. I wasn’t a very adventurous child. Putting myself in physical danger wasn’t really my thing.

So I’ve managed to go through life without knowing how to ride a bike properly. I kid you not, up until I was twenty-one, the only time I’d successfully ridden a bike was in Holland during a Contiki tour of Europe. I’m not sure I exactly tiptoed through the tulips; it was more like fearfully wobbling through them. I’m pretty sure I would have been too embarrassed to tell everyone I couldn’t ride a bike so I just jumped on and hoped for the best. Thankfully it was pretty straightforward. And everyone was probably too hungover to notice if I went off course now and then. Thank you Amsterdam, I love you for being so flat!

Anyway, so fast forward to my mid-thirties and for some bizarre reason I decided to spend my tax refund on a bike. And a helmet. And some crazy contraption to put on my car so I could take The Bike places.

So I went to the bike store with a friend and carefully selected My Very First Bike.

He was purple and I was so excited that I finally had a bike.

The thing was though, I didn’t really want to ride a bike.

I have a fear of falling. From pretty much anywhere and from any height. So things like skateboards and bikes are as terrifying to me as planes and Very Tall Buildings. Actually, they’re even scarier as I actually feel really safe in planes and once I even managed to jump out of one quite successfully. (It was the biggest adrenalin rush ever.)

Plus I had a Very Traumatic Bike Experience when I was a little girl when I fell head first over the handlebars of some random boy’s bike, attempting to ride down Billycart Hill.

Billycart Hill was steep.

And curvy.

And steep.

Very very steep.

And downright scary. I can’t imagine I actually wanted to get on that too-big-for-me bike and ride down Billycart Hill to my possible death, err, to the bottom. But someone would have pried a book out of my hands and I would have done it because Everyone Else Was. It was quite clearly a perfectly terrifying example of peer group pressure.

I ended up donating a rather large chunk of skin from my foot to the asphalt on Billycart Hill.

Ouch.

This bike is more my style. I’m pretty sure Dad still has Little Red Tricycle in the garage somewhere.

So why did I spend a few hundred dollars on a bike? And another fifty on a helmet and another hundred on some crazy contraption to put on my car?

Because I ‘shoulded’ myself.

I thought I 'should' be able to ride a bike because that’s what people do.

In my mind, everyone else on the entire planet could ride a bike and I couldn’t. And I honestly thought there was something wrong with that.

That there was something wrong with me.

So the following Sunday morning I spent a ridiculous amount of time figuring out how to attach The Crazy Contraption to Evie (my car at the time) and me and The Bike (see, it’s an inanimate object and I didn’t even name it… that’s a sign right there that all was not well in Karen and Bike World), headed down to a bayside suburb of Brisbane and we went for a ride together along the bike path.

Because I knew I couldn’t venture onto the road with The Bike just yet. We were only on our first date afterall. I needed to take things slowly.

Only problem was, I seemed to have forgotten that I still didn’t really know how to ride a bike.

And I secretly still dreamt of one with training wheels and a pretty basket with little tassels flying out as I rode down the street.

On the footpath.

In front of my parents house.

Because that’s where you learn to ride a bike.

Not on your own, on a busy bike path when you’re 35.

It was destined to end in tears.

And it did.

Mine.

Things went okay for a while. To my utter amazement The Bike and I managed to stay upright for a few kilometres of bike path.

See, even now, this feels embarrassing to be admitting this happened. But you know what?

Why on earth did I think I would so easily be able to do something I had never been taught?

I wouldn’t try to write a computer program if I didn’t know how.

Or I wouldn’t try to build a bridge if I didn’t know how.

So me and The Bike are coasting along enjoying the view (to be honest, I think I was too nervous to really be enjoying anything) and I thought I was doing okay sharing the bike path with Other Peeps and Their Bikes when all of a sudden two people yelled at me for not ringing my bell or some other such bike related task I’d never been shown.

That’s the thing, if you’re out on a bike, people expect you to know what you’re doing. Which is more than fair enough.

At that moment, the minuscule amount of confidence I had started with, plummeted into the earth beneath The Bike’s shiny new wheels and I knew the odds of us making it to Date Number Two were quite slim.

I took The Bike home and kept him in the garage for years until I finally gave him away.

And each time I drove into the garage I would see him there and feel bad that I had failed so miserably at something which everyone else seemed to find so incredibly simple and enjoyable.

That wasn’t a particularly happy time of my life so I found lots and lots of similar failings to beat myself up about as well.

Until something within me shifted and I drove in one night and had what Oprah would call an 'aha moment' - I thought, ‘I don’t need to be able to ride a bike!’ and from then on it became a reminder to never tell myself I ‘should’ be able to do something. Especially if it's something I've spent my entire life quite happily Not Doing.

And to remind myself that beating myself up isn’t a very kind thing to be doing.

And to especially remind myself that I am capable of so many wonderful things, so it’s okay to let go of the ones I’m not that good at.

And bike riding definitely appeared to fall into that category.

There’s the slightest of chances I would have been better off sticking with the training wheels and basket.

Awwwww, how cute!

So, my point (I do finally get to them occasionally), is that we’re not all good at the same things so comparing ourselves to others is quite simply, a ridiculous thing for us to do. But we do it All The Time.

We compare how we look.

We compare what we have.

We compare what we can do.

Years ago when I was contemplating a job change, my beautiful friend Nathan very wisely said to me ‘You can do anything.’ I let those words really sink in and to this day, those four little words still have the hugest impact on me.

But I didn’t hear those words and think, ‘I’m going to climb Mt Everest’ or ‘I’m going to become a brain surgeon’ because for various reasons I wouldn’t, (a) enjoy, or (b) be good at either of those pursuits. But my heart heard those words and knew that there are many skills I have and I can put those skills to great use Out in The World. It's often a case of simply working out what our skills and passions are more than anything else.

Sometimes we spend so much time focusing on what we feel we’re not good at, rather than putting our energy into what we are fabulous at!

And even though I may not have stuck to The Rules for The Year of More as well as someone else who creates a Blog and declares they’re going to do A, B and C and actually does A, B and C, I am really proud of what I’ve achieved so far and I am super proud of the changes I’ve made in my life and the self-awareness I’m gaining about all sorts of wonderful things.

And I’m super proud of the fact that I can openly and honestly share my successes and failings and quirks and vulnerabilities and fears and dreams with you via this Blog.

Because we all have them.

The most successful people in the world have failed.

They’ve been vulnerable.

They’ve been afraid.

They have dreams just like you and I.

And some come true and some don’t.

If life is about learning and growing and experiencing, then surely it's better to trip and fall, and question and ponder, and check in with yourself - your heart and your soul - than to simply follow a formula and achieve a goal?

If someone sets themselves the goal of losing weight and they lose 20 kilos by sticking to a strict diet, they may never actually figure out why they put on the weight in the first place.

Or if I had forced myself to learn how to ride a bike, I may never have worked out that I was doing it for The Wrong Reasons.

I could have gone an entire year without buying an item of clothing or a DVD and never actually learnt anything about myself because I was always so completely focused on the end goal.

So if there’s something you want to do, give it a go. And don’t weigh its success so much by the end goal, but how you go along the way.

What do you learn?

How do you grow?

How do you feel when you stumble?

What do you do to pick yourself up and start again?

And if you’re doing something Because You Think You Should or Because Everyone Else is Doing It, check in and ask yourself:

Whatever you do, do it with passion and heart and you can’t go wrong.

Joyful hugs,

Karen xo

'Far away there in the sunshine are my highest aspirations. I may not reach them, but I can look up and see their beauty, believe in them, and try to follow where they lead.' Louisa May Alcott

4 Comments

How many times have you lost the same kilos?

19/10/2014

2 Comments

One of ‘The Year of More’ goals I’ve struggled with the most, involves food.

In my Very First Blog Post I boldly declared that ‘food items are obviously approved Items of Need but only when my fridge/pantry is without these items.’

Hmmm, that hasn’t really happened.

I declared I wouldn’t buy chocolate if there was some already in the house.

Nope, that hasn’t happened either.

It appears New Chocolate is a frequent visitor to The Tree House.

I don’t even know what I was thinking putting that in writing.

I’m just not good with deprivation.

The more I deprive myself, the more I want the Item of Deprivation.

Thankfully this hasn’t applied to Everything to do with The Year of More (although, yes, there have been a few confessions along the way and no doubt there will be a few more to come) but limiting myself when it comes to chocolate and sweets, has definitely proven near impossible.

I was once publicly shamed at a Weight Watchers meeting for admitting that I’d eaten two squares of Lindt chocolate. Apparently - at two WW points per square - that’s A Very Bad Use of Points and quite a few people felt absolutely fine judging me for my choice.

I seriously think they were considering burning me at the stake.

I thought spending four little points on a couple of Incredibly Yummy pieces of chocolate was well worth it, but apparently I was in the minority. Some of those ladies were hard-core. It reminded me of when I sold Tupperware in my twenties and how I felt like I’d entered a cult made entirely out of plastic. It was fascinating to watch but I have a rather addictive personality and being anywhere near anything cult-like probably isn’t going to end so well, so I extracted myself fairly quickly.

Pardon my French.

I remember most of the WW ladies gasping at one meeting as The Leader told us there was a dessert at Hog’s Breath Café which was worth 40-something WW points (or using my Calculator of Choice, 20 squares of Lindt chocolate) - which was about two days worth of points for me at the time. It sounded like one kick ass dessert to me.

And as soon as she mentioned it, all I wanted to do was eat it!

That’s so naughty isn’t it? It’s little wonder I didn’t attend too many more WW meetings after that. Everything they warned us about, I desperately wanted to try.

I resisted the urge to go straight from that WW meeting to Hog’s Breath Café to throw myself head first into This Devilish Dessert but I still think about it whenever I walk past a Hog’s Breath and I have a quiet little giggle to myself.

Speaking of giggling, in 2005 the Vanderbilt University in Nashville, Tennessee conducted a study about how many calories we burn off by laughing. Apparently it would take about an hour of pretty intense laughter (I’m thinking some snorting would definitely need to be involved) to burn off just one chocolate bar but seriously, eat a chocolate bar then laugh for an hour.

I was a yo-yo dieter for most of my 20’s and 30’s – I would lose 20kgs and then slowly (and sometimes, not so slowly) I would put them all back on again. Sometimes they would bring friends with them and I would end up heavier than when I started.

I’ve had a very turbulent love-hate relationship with food.

So about nine years ago I decided to get off the diet merry-go-round because let’s face it, there isn’t much merry to be had on it.

I simply don’t believe that diets work long term.

If they did, people would only ever need to go on one.

And the diet industry wouldn’t be as massive as it is.

Because People Would Only Ever Need To Go On One.

Some diets may be effective for initial weight loss but they’re just not sustainable and most people struggle to maintain their new figure long term.

A Google search informs me that ‘During 2014/15, Australians are expected to spend $603 million on weight-loss counselling services and related low-calorie foods and dietary supplements’.

That’s an astounding amount of money. Although it’s minor compared to the $16 billion which will apparently be spent on fast food during the same period! Wow, that’s just incredible.

[Nerdy stats from www.ibisworld.com.au]

So nine years ago when I decided to get off the merry-go-round, I did a workshop about emotional eating and it was fascinating.

Who knew I was an emotional eater?!

I ate when I was sad to stuff down the emotions I may not have wanted to completely feel but I also ate when I was happy, as food is such a wonderful celebratory friend.

The workshop also focused on mindful eating, which was an entirely new concept for me.

We were all given a small Easter egg and had to sit with it for a little while before we were allowed to remove it from it’s spectacularly shiny and enticing wrapper. We then held it in our hands for a few minutes (excruciating minutes I might add) and finally, finally we were given permission to take a bite.

Just one bite.

It was seriously the best piece of chocolate I had eaten in my life up to that point.

We were then told we could either finish the egg or throw the rest of it in the rubbish bin. I can barely believe I’m admitting to this, but I actually threw mine in the bin because I felt completely satisfied with That One Bite.

I know, it sounds absurd to be satisfied with Just One Bite of Chocolate but that’s how mindful eating works. You listen to your body so you’re aware of when you feel full and when you feel satisfied. Often when we crave something – chocolate for instance – we devour an entire block rather than checking in with our body to see when we’ve actually satisfied that craving. After that first bite, it really is more habit driven than anything else.

But it was a fascinating exercise. For me, mindful eating is the key to healthy weight management. At that workshop I bought a book called ‘If not dieting, then what?’ by Dr Rick Kausman. It has been The One Thing which has inspired me to create a more loving relationship with food and my weight.

As I said, I don’t respond well to deprivation, which is why attempting to completely eliminate anything from my diet or life, makes me crave it that much more.

So part of my plan was to build a better relationship with food. Which, like any relationship, takes time and energy and the desire to succeed.

I’ve always adored food and I’ve always had a particularly strong and close relationship with All Things Sweet. I get it from my Mum. She would tell me stories about spending all of her pocket money as a child on a Big Bag of Lollies, just as I would do. Until my pocket money was upped and I was able to save up to buy a book (and a small bag of lollies of course).

I realised early on in life that Lollies, Books and I were to be lifelong friends and I went from spending pocket money on them to spending large chunks of my salary on them. I am therefore extremely proud of not buying any books so far during The Year of More.

But I was to discover fairly quickly that wanting a better relationship with food wasn’t going to be easy after my enduring love affair with All Things Sweet. Relationships can be tough and this one was no different. Especially as I knew I would be the only one making any effort or changing. Lollies, chocolates, cakes, pastries and biscuits weren’t going to taste any less scrumdiddlyumptious were they? And my fat cells weren’t going to all of a sudden dislodge and float off into the atmosphere.

So I knew it was entirely up to me.

And I instinctively knew that willpower wasn’t going to play a part in this relationship.

Willpower can be incredibly fickle and Deprivation, well, she’s simply a Mean Girl.

So the first step in my goal to eat better was to eat worse. Yes, I know, that’s not what you were expecting to hear was it?

I gave myself permission to eat Anything and Everything I Wanted and let me tell you, I was very very good at it!

Within a couple of months, I had gained 7 kilos. I think I eventually upped that to 11 kilos which I thought was a pretty darn good effort!

I know this sounds rather ridiculous but I had a long-term goal to Farewell the Merry-Go-Round Forever, so I had to keep looking at My End Goal rather than getting bogged down by the fact that I was purposely putting on weight. I was at the point where I knew I had to do something different in order to break the cycle I’d been in my entire life.

Because during that time, I had truly believed that losing weight would bring me happiness.

I truly believed that fitting into smaller clothes would make me feel better about myself.

I truly believed that I would let go of my insecurities as I let go of the weight.

I truly believed that my self-esteem would rise, as the number on the scales got lower.

This image appears on numerous websites… thanks to whoever created it!

It seems ridiculous to me now that I actually believed all of that.

Because clearly none of that happened. To my utter shock and horror, each time I lost a large amount of weight, I remained The Same Person. Exactly the same! I couldn’t believe that was possible.

Surely Skinny Karen had a better personality?
Surely Skinny Karen was more attractive to men?
Surely Skinny Karen was funnier, wittier and more self-assured?
Surely Skinny Karen would live happily ever after without even having to try because she was more deserving?
Surely Skinny Karen no longer had a reason to beat herself up?

I had put so much faith in The Power of Weight Loss that I lost all faith in my own power to create A Most Wonderfully Fabulous Life.

And to love Me at any size.

That’s the power I set out to reclaim.

I wanted to break the cycle of ‘pigging out’ and then feeling guilty afterward. I wanted to get to the stage where I could eat whatever I liked without, (a) putting on weight; and (b) beating myself up about it afterward. Because although ‘beating yourself up’ sounds as though it might burn off a few calories, it really doesn’t. It’s all in our heads and it just perpetuates the cycle. We feel bad so we stuff those feelings down with food. And then we feel worse so we try even harder to stuff More Bad Feelings down with food, etc etc etc. And we never ever break the cycle and we continue to put on weight and feel bad about ourselves. And the longer it goes on, the worse we feel about ourselves.

I knew it probably wasn’t realistic for me to go straight from this cycle, to one of eating everything that’s good for me and feeling good about myself, but I figured a significant step in the right direction was to continue to eat whatever I wanted but to feel GOOD about myself instead of bad, despite how much weight I would put on.

My goal was to eat what I liked but to be a more mindful eater so I wouldn’t want to eat as much food. But of equal importance was my goal to be content no matter what weight I was at. That’s not easy for someone who has always strived to 'Lose A Few More Kilos'.

Clearly I found this more challenging than I'd expected, hence the weight gain, but I was pleased to discover that I honestly didn't feel bad about it. Something had definitely started to shift and this inspired me to keep going with the non-dieting approach to healthy weight management.

I have been a size 8 and a size 18, and obviously everywhere in between.

London, 1989

Brisbane, 2001

On the left we have my 21 year-old self after a year of joyful and unrestrained pastry and lager consumption whilst living in London (and a dodgy blonde hairdo) and on the right is my 32 year-old self a few months before I got divorced. Divorce isn’t a recommended weight loss plan but anyone who's been through it will know it's an effective one to say the least.

I kept that black velvet dress in my wardrobe for years after I could no longer fit into it, as I really thought it would make me happy to squeeze back into it again. It’s funny how we get so attached to things like that. Fitting back into a wedding dress or a pair of jeans. Part of me felt I had failed by starting to put on weight again as I moved into a happier chapter of my life. How sad that I wasn't simply celebrating My Happy New Chapter.

Perhaps marriage is book-ended by weight loss as many brides-to-be lose weight because of the stress they're under. Although, given my Low Bride DNA, there was little chance of that happening to me of course (refer to my Low Bride DNA post here http://www.theyearofmore.com/blog/do-women-really-need-dresses). All the High Bride DNA women I knew had me convinced I’d lose weight so I bought a size 16 wedding dress with The Brilliant Plan of 'losing all the pre-wedding stress weight' and having it adjusted to a lovely size 14.

Okay, so I was secretly hoping for a reduction to a size 12.

Just how stressful did I think organising a wedding was going to be??!!

What I discovered, is that, (a) apparently you need more than just a plan (ie. it seems some form of action must be involved), and (b) it turns out having a small wedding on a tropical island ain't so stressful! My size 16 dress fit perfectly on the day and I would take a healthy happy lifestyle over stress-induced weight loss any day.

So after joyfully gaining 11 or so kilos at the beginning of my plan to Kick the Merry-Go-Round To The Curb, over the following few years, I lost a few of the kilos I’d put on and my weight finally settled into where it was most comfortable – a size 14. In the years since then I’ve pretty much stayed within five kilos of the same weight. For the first time in my entire adult life.

And I no longer beat myself up about what I eat. Ever.

If I want to eat two bowls of ice cream for dinner (lovingly referred to as Main and Dessert) I enjoy every single spoonful. I wouldn’t do it every night but doing it occasionally and knowing I’m not going to feel bad about it, is so incredibly liberating. And I’m not opposed to sampling a Lindt ball or two while I’m cooking dinner.

Here I am in Guatemala eating a most delicious chocolate brownie before my main meal.

So Much Fun having dessert first.

Unfortunately, I don’t always eat as mindfully as I’d like so that’s constantly a Work in Progress, but Food and I are definitely having the best relationship we’ve ever had. I think we really will Live Happily Ever After.

I now weigh ten kilos more than when I first joined WW all those years ago – when I JOINED, so clearly I wanted to lose five or so kilos back then – which means I’m now 15 kilos more than what I had once considered my Goal Weight.

I can’t imagine what I was thinking. I’m tall, I’m big-boned (thanks Mum for constantly reminding me as an insecure teenager that I’d inherited the big boned DNA from Dad’s side of the family!) and I shouldn’t be trying to weigh something a Supermodel would be aiming for. Clearly, I’m not a Supermodel but after playing The Weight Game for more than 30 years, I now feel the most comfortable I have ever felt in my own skin.

Besides, Supermodels probably aren’t likely to eat ice cream for dinner so why on earth would I aim for that kind of sad existence?

And if one day, I just happen to fall into a calorie-ridden dessert at Hog’s Breath Café, I shall simply enjoy the excruciating sweetness of it all.

Wishing you the sweetness of life in whatever form that takes for you.

Joyful hugs,

Karen xo

‘Losing weight is not your life’s work, and counting calories is not the call of your soul. You surely are destined for something much greater, much bigger, than shedding 20 pounds or tallying calories. What would happen if, instead of worrying about what you had for breakfast, you focused instead on becoming exquisitely comfortable with who you are as a person? Instead of scrutinizing yourself in the mirror, looking for every bump and bulge, you turned your gaze inward?’ Lisa Turner, ‘Losing Weight: What’s the Point’

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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

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