From the archive: A few years I lost a lot of weight and noticed some interesting changes in the way people responded to me. Here’s a snippet of what I reflected on back then.
I don’t make any secret of the fact that I’m as single as a single person comes – never been on a date, never held hands, never been kissed. I do consider myself to be in possession of a fairly healthy sexuality. I’ve certainly met my fair share of men who, in possession of depth, character and a sense of humour have won my affection. In other words – I’ve never been not open to the idea. In fact – if there is one thing in this world that I know how to do.. it’s crush. I’mreally good at seeing the beauty, goodness and wonder in the people around me.
Still – something in the wind has changed.
The only thing that’s changed is my physical appearance. And I’m not offended by it. It’s the most honest thing to acknowledge. Sometimes love and romance needs a trigger; sex certainly does.
Whatever the threshold of commonly accepted desirability/eligibility is – I think I’ve passed it. For the first time in my adult life, people are taking an interest in my love life. They’re suggesting people to connect with. It’s intensely strange to experience something that feels so adolescent at this stage of my life. Some in jest, some in resolute seriousness, have begun to talk about my relationship status, potential mates. From the most unusual places, comes commentary, speculation and suggestion.
The only thing that’s changed is my physical appearance. And I’m not offended by it. It’s the most honest thing to acknowledge. No more of that, true love loves regardless stuff. Sometimes love and romance needs a trigger, and sex definitely does. Chemistry might still exist but it has a hard time getting out there when you’re carrying extra kilos than you should. There’s no issue in that for me. I’m so different now to how I was and so much the same. I’m no more or less sexually aware or available than I ever was… but others’ awareness of me has changed.
In fact, it’s almost a rewarding gratification. It’s a relief to be noticed at last. It’s a relief to have my sexuality, my gender recognised and attributed to my attractiveness. It’s confirming and affirming my identity and participation within the species. I am no more woman than ever I was, but oh, you should hear me roar now.
What I wonder is – to what extent does physicality impact our overall perception of sexuality/eligibility and attraction? I’m not really that different in mind or heart than I was 10 months ago, but still I think a friend said it best, when he said “You’ll be married any minute now – just look at you!” I’m thinking it impacts us quite a lot. In fact, more so the group and community dynamic than the individual. After all, in years past – the art of matchmaking has always had a place in community ritual. So, community affirmation of sexuality and gender identity is important.
So, is there a threshold at which we subconsciously categorize people and attribute a certain level of asexuality to their persona? A point at which we stop considering the attributes of sexuality in the consideration of a whole person?
From Another Side
I’ve always felt guilty of failure, as if there was a part of my understanding of human nature that was simply underdeveloped, unqualified due to my inexperience. I’ve had to consciously shirk off feelings of “less-than” and the looks that suggested a sub-text I’d only understand once I’d had a relationship of my own.
I can agree that there are many nuances of human behaviour that I have not experienced for myself. Still, my observation skills seem to increase exponentially as the years tick by. Last night around drinks, there was a refreshing and unheard of perspective shared for the first time ever. With it, a bit of a bubble broke and I felt somehow released.
“Still,” he said (being the recipient of a recently shattered heart), “you’ve got to be thankful that you don’t have any of that baggage of poor relationships to carry into the future. Everything’s a fresh clean slate.”
Yes – there is something delightful about that. Whatever tragedies I have suffered on my own or lived vicariously through my friends … I have no significant love wounds. All unnecessary and unfounded conjecture on love may abound – but I can believe the best of love between a man and a woman. I can believe in soulmates, in connection as deep of the deepest oceans. I can believe in patience and appreciating someone for who they are, not how they make me feel. I can love freely out of knowing myself. I can believe the best of love and how it is.
Now, the world says I am qualified for love; acceptably attractive. The community expects it of me. Isn’t that strange?
This was written more than five years ago. I’m slightly heavier now than I was writing this, but just as single. A few stolen kisses and plenty of confirmation of my robust, vital sexuality. Still unscarred from love and yet, not without wounds. My community has changed expectation too. Now, those who speak say it’s my intelligence and independence. Others nod sympathetically, I just nod. I am more myself now than I was then but I have always been me.
I did not earn these tiger stripes of mine. I am not one of the women who can claim bravery, sharing images of stretchmarks on Instagram. The hashtag is #loveyourlines. Search it and you will read some words that reveal how women really feel about beauty and its social constructs.
“Maybe we’ve been looking at it wrong. Maybe we’re not damaged, maybe these are the brands of our accomplishments.”
“I have struggled with my stretchmarks for years, but today I want to accept them. I’m not perfect, but I’m worthy of love and loving myself.”
“They’re like flames and like the Phoenix, I will rise above them.”
We talk as if the body fights against itself. As if we have fought, battled and finally lost perfection as the prize. Then we call that battle birth and say it must be worth it. Our sacrifice is worth it because of what we made.
If a woman must say she is beautiful because she made another human, because her scars are the product of love, because she sacrificed flawlessness to make another perfect little body to one day be wrecked by scars of love’ – then she does not say ‘Because.’
She is saying ‘despite’.
Qualifying For Beauty.
We are looking for one more way to qualify for beauty and find our meaning. It’s not that our meaning is solely found in our beauty but physical beauty and the popular feminine are entwined without distinction. So our language becomes muddled and unclear. We mistake our words in trying to accept ourselves fully. We are saying self-acceptance and love lies beyond overcoming the obstacle of our physical imperfections, we talk ourselves into self-acceptance by worthy cause and thus; forget – our bodies alone are not our beauty. In fact, our bodies are not our beauty, just a vessel of it. A machine.
If I didn’t know that our bodies are not our beauty, it would be easier to believe. Instead I know our bodies are vessels for beauty not beauty itself. Carriers of beauty and at times beautiful, our bodies are machines designed to slowly burn up as we decay physically, mentally towards death. We ought to use them up, wrinkled and worn down. We ought to wring every ounce of beauty from within these bodies.
Isn’t it strange that our bodies might be loved and yet our True Selves remain untouched, but when we are truly loved and seen, our bodies can be also loved?
Maybe I could stand it if the tiger stripes of birth were my story too. Little silver marks that fall delicately around my curves. Like lace over my hips and gathered like fingerprints under my belly button. Velvety to the touch, in the right light they shimmer, like a roadmap of where to touch me. In truth, the map says – here’s where I stretched. Here’s what’s left behind of the sad and heavy days, here’s what you didn’t know at 17. Here’s what you lost at 28 and found at 30 years of age. Here is my pale Scottish skin over strong thighs and proud breasts. Here is an extraordinary, sensitive machine that carries my self, my soul, my sense.
My marks are not qualified.
They are not beautiful because they came from something worthy.
Nor beautiful because they proved my womb is warm and useful.
They did not mark me as one who is connected by flesh and blood.
They are not battle scars.
They are not the remnants of some hard-fought struggle.
I am of sound mind enough to reason, these marks cannot make me beautiful – though you might tell me that, if I had given birth.
Truthfully, I have nothing worthy to attribute my marks to. Like many women who cover their first stretchmarks with the stretchmarks of childbearing, I grew too fast and shrunk too quickly, my skin could not keep up. Time has passed and those lines are faded. I do not qualify my imperfections to be considered beautiful. My body was made to be used up and I am doing a good job of that, perfecting it’s strength and ability for balance, grace and clumsiness.
In the same way, I am not beautiful because of my age or the lines on my face. I cannot be considered beautiful because I have lived so long, making this body last until my life is etched in leathered valleys.
Isn’t it strange that our bodies might be loved and yet our True Selves remain untouched, but when we are truly loved and seen, our bodies can be also loved?
I think I’m just about done writing and thinking about this marriage business. There’s maybe two more posts in me for the next little while and then I’ll be putting it aside. My friend Bethany pointed out that it’s been something I’ve talked and thought a lot about over the last couple of years. It was like a warning bell. Until recent years, I haven’t really talked about being single and I certainly don’t want to get stuck with only one topic of conversation.
Tomorrow, my best friend from high school is getting married, again. While I’ve been to a lot of second weddings, this is the first one I’ve been to where I’ve been to both events, let alone had the same job at each. Years ago, she asked me to write and read a poem for her wedding as I stood beside her in a burgundy bridesmaid dress. This week, I’ll read lyrics to a song they love and I have no idea how it’s going to turn out, but I’m hopeful. As she said, “We’re professionals, so there’s no rehearsal.”So true, my friend, so true.
Her first wedding is best left in the past, it’s become a poignant and intimate thing that is best shared between two friends who have loved each other for a long time. Together, we can laugh, groan and cry about it. Her second wedding will feel more true, more authentic at least. Less triviality.
The first time around, mutual friends and acquaintances fluttered around with reassuring and unfounded promises, the way they tend to do with bridesmaids.
“You’ll be next!”
“Can’t wait for your wedding, it’ll be such a party!”
Even the band (of friends) joked they would have to stay together long enough to play my wedding dance. They’ve long since broken up. There is no boyfriend. Nor a girlfriend, which I’m asked surprisingly a lot. I don’t have an ex-husband to roast. There are a handful of awkward first-date stories that I use to entertain people. Tomorrow’s questions will not be as fun.
In the last year, my two sisters have become engaged and one is married, the other soon to be. My best friend from high school is about to marry again, as are some of my other recently divorced friends. Whether it’s the first time round, or second I feel joy for them. It’s the circumstance however, that’s pushed me to examine the deep, dark things of my life. To look at what is, embrace it and move into a different way of living with the ‘What-If’.
Sometimes life is like going to the dentist. You think you’re fine, until he prods that molar with the sharp pointy thing. Next thing you know, you’re paying for a cavity you didn’t realise you had.
I’m selfish and afraid. I’m afraid of disappointing people, afraid of facing the same old questions and the same old reassurances, when what I want to say is ‘No, stop. Just let it be what it is.’ I’m also learning to let go of my ego, that wants to asks things like, why them and why not me. Dark, dangerous, stupid questions. I’m not afraid that I’ll be single forever and I certainly don’t care about not spending a fortune on a one-day party. I’m afraid that I won’t be ok, if I’m alone. I’m afraid I’ll be too okay and that every day I move forward with my life into a complete, fulfilling, do-all-the-things world, I get further and further from the possibility of meeting someone to share that world with me.
I’ve lived half of my life with the expectation I’d meet someone and we’d re-design the rest of it together. A halfway co-design of the future was the plan I had. That’s not what it is right now, so I’m having to design the second half myself. More on that later.
What-Is, What-Isn’t and What-If.
I’m trying to give something up here, trying to grasp on to something new, this next phase re-design of my life. I’m trying to talk myself into a new way of thinking, which is largely about moving into a new phase of life. I’ll tell you about it once I have the words, but I’m currently in transition.
We all know people who get stuck in What-Isn’t. That singular focus and deep misery that comes from not seeing the wood for the trees. Longing for something they don’t have. Not just single people, but people unhappy in their jobs, their work, their health, their relationships. People who wish for change but do nothing about it, people who live stuck in What-Isn’t.
I think you can get stuck in the What-If too. Afraid to move in any direction in case the magic you were looking for comes along. What if they really change this time? What if my soulmate lives here instead of there; I’ll just stay put. What if I won’t be ok?
I’m trying to give up the What-Isn’t and the What-If. They are addictive, slimy little emotional ego drugs. To be fair, for a girl who lives by the motto ‘do all the things’, it’s not What-Isn’t that trips me up. I’ve never been one to wallow in what I don’t have – but even the twinge of “why her, why not me?” has shaken me enough to re-think my thinking. Just a glimmer of What-Isn’t thinking is too dangerous to give a foothold, like getting high one time and liking it just a little too much.
Earlier this year I nearly overdosed on What-If thinking. It is a slippery slide of self-doubt.
Being Present.
When people write and talk about being Present, this is what we mean. Cling to What-Is and live deeply out of that. Don’t dwell or give too much time to the What-Isn’t and What-if, lest you get stuck. Of course, the healthier you are the less dangerous the What-Isn’t and What-If thinking is. Sometimes life is like going to the dentist. You think you’re fine, until he prods that molar with the sharp pointy thing. Next thing you know, you’re paying for a cavity you didn’t realise you had.
Today the Supreme Court of the United States voted (only just) in favour of same- sex marriage being legalised across the United States. Read more here. I’ve made my personal views and what I believe the Law should represent here. I’m glad because I believe that this ruling represents a just civil system for all citizens of the United States. In my home country, New Zealand, we’ve already made the leap.
We won something today, but we did not win the War.
Here’s what I’ve seen in countries where this legislation has already been put in place: not a single one of the stupid arguments I heard has come to pass.
Nobody has yet married a pet or an inanimate object
Polygamy is still not legal
The divorce rate hasn’t increased or decreased, inside or outside the church
Domestic violence hasn’t increased, nor decreased
Juvenile crime rates haven’t increased
Here’s what you’ll probably be afraid of next. Considering the amount of vitriol, bigotry, hatred and fear represented either truthfully or under the guise of free speech on Facebook, blogs, Christian columnists and the like today – I thought I would cut to the chase and help you figure out what to panic about next.
Freedom of Gender Choice It’s inevitable that choice of gender/gender neutrality and/or expression will soon fall under the microscope. It’s possible we’ll give birth to children who have the freedom to self-select their gender post-puberty or even before.
Renewable Marriage Licensing Now that everybody has the right to divorce, we should probably streamline the legal and economic efficiencies of that. I suggest marriage licenses that require renewal after the first five years with full dissolution of marital property right up to that point unless there are children. Then every ten years following. Less anniversaries but with more significant meaning.
Separation of Spiritual and Civil Marriage You should probably begin to be concerned about an onslaught of Christian couples ‘living in sin’. Without the careful separation of legal ceremony to make the distinction between civil and Biblical marriage, pastors will more likely be asked to bless non-legal unions than to perform same-sex marriages in their Churches.
What a beautiful indulgence offered by the liberty of democracy and relative economic security.
It’s all about choice.
Gay men now have more rights in the United States than women do in parts of Asia, Africa, Europe and … oh, EVERYWHERE.
Gay men are now more likely to be esteemed into positions of spiritual leadership in affirming churches than women in most mainstream denominations.
Collectively, the decision made today and throughout a debate that has cost upwards of $20million in the United States alone is a decision about choice. What a beautiful indulgence offered by the liberty of democracy and relative economic security. We have spent years fighting for choices. What choices to allow people, what choices to withhold from people.
Should this argument be had? Yes. Absolutely. The importance of this conversation is not any less important because of what I’m about to say. But truthfully, those of us who believe in justice and those who believe in liberty (‘Merica!) should orient around these important truths, especially the most liberal of progressive Christians.
The risk is the same-sex marriage, gender and sexual expression debates will overtake the true intent of the social justice movement. The decisions of others to express and honour their same-sex relationships will never impact your own spiritual fate or expression. To believe otherwise is to be deceived and distracted from the real justice issues that daily plunge human lives into darkness.
Be prudent and wise with the battle you choose to fight. The West (and the church) has been distracted with this issue at a time when the ideals of justice and liberty are at risk in the majority, developing world. We need to get back into the business of the poorest and least.
What about those who remain choice-less?
Today, more than 5000 people will be trafficked and sold into slavery or sex work throughout Asia, Europe and the Americas. They have no choices.
More than 50million people are currently classed as refugees throughout the world, as reported by the UN Refugee Agency on the 20th of June, 2014. They are displaced both externally and internally due to famine, genocide, political and civil unrest and war. They have next to no choices.
Women make up 80% of all global refugees. They have the fewest choices.
Each week, refugees drown trying to make their way across the Mediterranean, or to Thailand, Malaysia or Indonesia. THe Rohingya are currently the most persecuted refugees in the world. Meanwhile Australia refuses refugees by the boatload or inters them into camps that are closer to prisons than refugee quarters.
Meanwhile, men and women who break the vows of fidelity and honour in their relationship will still sit in church on Sunday. They will even preach from the pulpit. We will wear clothes made in the sweatshops of Thailand, India and China but we will Instagram our supercool organic, gluten-free meal choices. We will choose to ignore the underpaid, uninsured illegal workers that underpin industry in the United States, we will continue to say nothing at all about colour or race and yet daily make choices based on stereotypes and misogny. We will get worked up about 50 Shades of Grey but do nothing about sexual abuse and domestic violence in our homes, churches and communities.
So, we have won something but it’s not the War. What will you fight for next?
There is no such thing as broken, not when it comes to human beings.
It’s a lie. The logic follows that if a man or woman can be broken or have brokenness, then a man or woman might also obtain ‘perfection’. I am determined to rid us of this language that separates our humanity and divinity in such a way.
I have no desire for an overly virtuous piety. I want wholeness; a kind of rugged holiness that is my body, mind and soul integrated. The darkness and the light of me, entwined together. Piety alone cannot give me freedom, it can not bring me home to myself. If I fall and scrape my knee, if my blood spills on the earth – I heal, but I am not left unmarked. The scar is evidence itself of that which is wounded and that which is whole being woven together through the act of living.
Wholeness is not the opposite of brokenness. Wholeness is accepting myself, both good and bad. Accepting the divinity and humanity within me. No man is wholly good, but he might find his true self in accepting what is shadow and what is glorious. Accepting your true self perhaps the largest obstacle to embracing and living/being the person you dream (or have not yet dreamed of being) with real freedom. Whether that is making money, developing the third world, pursuing art – whatever it is that is within you; you were made to impact the world. More of us than we like to think, were made to spend our energies in the pursuit of bringing others and whole communities to wholeness.
Living defined by your rights and wrongs is a flawed and fractured mirror of who you are. If we see others through that same lens, our lens is the only broken thing. An object can be broken; a person cannot. My friend Greg works in a church and he would call it ‘living defined by your sin’.
To be ‘fixed’ or ‘unbroken’ is as much of a lie as it is to believe you are broken. Wounded, perhaps. Scarred, likely. There is only to be yourself or to be some other version of yourself. This is crucial identity work – the process of becoming; wholeness. Where what is graceful, clumsy, beautiful, ugly, brave, cowardly, truthful, deceitful, wise, foolish and fragile is woven together into a single, true being.
Every wound is an opportunity to dig deeper into the darkness and light within you. The damages we do, the things we suffer, the furies we endure and the passions that push and pursue us. This mosaic of contrasts battling and dancing within each of us, that is the truest self. Fragments of light and hope, pieces of darkness and shadow – this work of coming home to myself and all that I am, is the most important task.
I’ll tell you why. It is too easy to live in this world by category of right and wrong. When we do that to ourselves and we do it to each other; we step so easily into a warped view of justice. Justice becomes blurred into self-focus. We become criminals or victims, instead of both. We categorize ourselves and one another; this one is good, this one is bad.
We make our worlds smaller by defining each other within such small boundaries. We limit God and the universe with concrete lines. We crush the imagination of what might be and we take our eyes off the true prize, which is to live as our true selves.
Some of us are afraid of our true selves, because we categorize so ruthlessly into right and wrong. Ambition might be always considered selfish by those who work for charity, while poverty for the sake of development might be seen as irresponsible or wrong by those who hold self-sufficiency as a virtue. So we try again, to get it right. Few of us are so confident to live completely as ourselves, lest we be called Narcissist. The world is rarely blessed with those who walk completely in their own skin.
We relinquish our creative power, becoming obsessed with doing what is right. In our desire to be perfect, to be right, to be good (or to be sinless) we take our eyes off the bigger creative work in the Universe. There is no hero in fairytale or real life that does not bear some shadow or flaw. We are unconvincing humans without them.
Whatever good you can and will accomplish in your life, will occur in the company of your demons too. You cannot eradicate yourself of much, but in the pursuit of your true self, more of your light will come to the surface than you realise.
If only people would give as much energy, thought and love to their gifts (the true self) and the work of their hands today; as they gave to pursuing perfection yesterday in order to begin tomorrow.
If you cannot look at the moon and see how she leans into the darkness each night, you do not yet understand how important the weaving, the juxtaposition of light and dark truly is.
Seek yourself out, so that you might see the creative force of the Universe, the Creator at work. If you will simply look, it will not take you long to become acquainted with that self. Then you can continue with the important work; that of Being.
The poet Rumi captured it well here; the process of coming home to yourself;
“For ages you have come and gone courting this delusion. For ages you have run from the pain and forfeited the ecstasy. So come, return to the root of the root of your own soul.
Although you appear in earthly form Your essence is pure Consciousness. You are the fearless guardian of Divine Light. So come, return to the root of the root of your own soul.
When you lose all sense of self the bonds of a thousand chains will vanish. Lose yourself completely, Return to the root of the root of your own soul.
You descended from Adam, by the pure Word of God, but you turned your sight to the empty show of this world. Alas, how can you be satisfied with so little? So come, return to the root of the root of your own soul.
Why are you so enchanted by this world when a mine of gold lies within you? Open your eyes and come — Return to the root of the root of your own soul.
You were born from the rays of God’s Majesty when the stars were in their perfect place. How long will you suffer from the blows of a nonexistent hand? So come, return to the root of the root of your own soul.
You are a ruby encased in granite. How long will you decieve Us with this outer show? O friend, We can see the truth in your eyes! So come, return to the root of the root of your own soul.
After one moment with that glorious Friend you became loving, radiant, and ecstatic. Your eyes were sweet and full of fire. Come, return to the root of the root of your own soul.
Shams-e Tabriz, the King of the Tavern has handed you an eternal cup, And God in all His glory is pouring the wine. So come! Drink! Return to the root of the root of your own soul.
Soul of all souls, life of all life – you are That. Seen and unseen, moving and unmoving – you are That. The road that leads to the City is endless; Go without head and feet and you’ll already be there. What else could you be? – you are That.”
She doesn’t actually have my eyes. Not this daughter, anyway. Mine are blue, her’s are brown. She’s borrowed. All of my children are, for now. It’s a gift I often speak of, the joy of having young people in your life. I’m lucky to be able to count dozens of them, most of them adults now and enough new ones coming into this world each year to keep my heart full. Too many to name, but each one a blessing.
Still, when I think of this one in particular, I think, “Daughter – you wear my name, those are my eyes, keep them raised“. It’s a lyric from a Jakob Dylan song called ‘War Is Kind’. And the name I have to give her, is Courage.
You can read all about Brylee’s story here but the short story is, after multiple setbacks, my sweet girl finally landed in Sydney to attend the prestigious Brent Street dance school just a few weeks ago. It’s been a long journey that started many years ago.
My girl is tough and kind. She’s going to have a strong, robust character with grit and warmth to her. She’ll always find it easy to make friends but she’s not all the way there yet. She’s not done baking, so to speak.
My friend Marko is a pretty smart chap. He said to me at the end of 2014, over a cigar in a Zen backyard in San Diego (one of my favourite places on earth).. “You know, you’re at a stage of life when you should still be learning in whatever environment you’re in.”
It’s pretty damn good advice and a good situation to be in at 35 years, to have someone prepared to remind you, you should still push yourself into learning environments. So when I think about Brylee, I hope and pray I’ve encouraged her to do what I try to do, hopefully to do it better. To take every opportunity as a learning chance, diving deep into the marrow of life and to keep learning, no matter where you are.
If I’ve done anything as a mentor and friend, I hope it’s been to encourage young people in establishing their voice, committing themselves to constant learning, evolution and most importantly, the courage to do those things ongoingly.
If there is one thing more I have to give Brylee, it’s courage to face her fears. Courage to face loneliness, insecurity and doubt. Courage to push through the toughest of lessons, even when they come around again and again. Funnily enough, when it came time to write those words down for her… all I had was a story. A story of the women I come from; tough, resourceful and resilient women who have been brave in many aspects of life – from solo mums, missionaries, oppressed housewives and many more. I come from a line of women who have grit and warmth and so I invited her into it; my surrogate, adopted daughter.
The funny thing is, I’m trying to give this lineage to her at the very same time as trying to grasp it myself. I think that’s magical, though. All that has come to me through mentors, teachers and family I’m trying to live and work out alongside a young woman who will be braver, stronger, kinder and tougher than I. We are forging this path together. We are making a way for each other.
So I wrote to her, the story of the family lineage I’m offering her, on top of the wonderful family she has. And then I wrote some advice – the kind of advice that I’ve received and the stuff that’s worth passing on. Even a few pieces entirely my own.
Your life is about to get really practical and hard. So promise me that you won’t lose the mystery and wonder and the possibility of ‘what if?’. And remember, that you come from a line (even by adoption!) of strong, capable women who push through when they get scared or intimidated. You have grown up capable and brave. Remember that we are all cheering you on, a family of women who are immensely proud of you but also pushing you on to cross over borders and boundaries for us. We have all pushed through our own to open up paths for you. Don’t forget that……
Remember your spirituality. I’m not talking about religion and you know that, right? Still, I hope that you’ll remember you are more than a body and mind and heart. There is something bigger in the universe and the more connected to it you are, the easier it will be to know yourself, to trust your instincts and to make your way on the earth. So take time out, even if it’s just to ask questions and write a journal…..
Choose your friends wisely. There will be some people who come in and out of your life for a season. That’s ok. Don’t let every new person into your innermost circle. Let them earn your trust first……
It’s really easy for people to focus on the challenges that you’ve overcome to get where you are. Now’s the time to start living as if you never faced them. What I mean by that, is you’re about to start growing up in all the normal ways everyone does. Learning to really take care of yourself, how to learn from every experience and how to admit when you’re wrong, how to say sorry when you don’t have to. All that kind of stuff that we have to learn as we grow……
Don’t do it by yourself. Keep talking to people when stuff goes wrong. Don’t be ashamed or embarrassed if you make mistakes or get into trouble. I wish I had learned this lesson a long time ago. Part of the risk of being a strong, independent woman is that you actually become too independent. It’s easy to start thinking as if any failure is unacceptable. Failure is simply a faster way of learning. It’s ruthlessly more efficient. So you should expect to fail often……
The most important thing is to learn to fail well – which means admitting something hasn’t worked or has gone wrong, to talk about it with others and to figure out what to do differently. Failing well usually means having people to keep you accountable in the mix as well. So these are things I hope you’ll remember when it happens next. It’s normal. Just reach out and get people to help you recover well. I promise that if you learn to do that, you’ll save yourself so much hardship in the future and become a much more compassionate and forgiving human being……
No triumph or mistake is the total sum of your success or failure. So don’t crow or mope more than you need to…….
Something else I want you to hold on to – this next part of your life is an opportunity and a risk, to become really selfish and self-centred. It’s easy when the whole focus of your life becomes what you are doing and what you want. So find someone to help when you get to Sydney. Find something that gets you out of your own world once or twice a week. It will help you stay grounded and it will also help you to remember that while dance school is everything right now, it won’t be everything forever… therefore it’s not the be all and end all in your world. Don’t live for today… live for tomorrow…..
In any situation, whether it’s an argument or someone who drives you crazy with love or crazy with hate – ask yourself first , what can I do differently? Then ask yourself what else might be going on for the people involved. Ask yourself whether there is anything about their perspective that might be true or worth taking on board. Do this ritually, even when it’s uncomfortable or when you are convinced you’re right. Especially when you are convinced you are right. This will help you to learn. It will make you stronger, more rational and more understanding…..
Don’t sleep with dumb boys. Seriously. And think hard about the story you’ll tell me about any tattoos. Mine have great stories, so I expect the same from you. If a conversation is good, then let it go on all night but don’t expect every night to be the same…..
Hold everything loosely except your own heart – you should hold that tight. When you decide to give it away, even in a little piece, give it freely without needing anything back. If you give love away because you need something in return, that isn’t love, precious girl. So give love when you know you’re still happy to give it without receiving anything in return from friends, with boys, with family…..
Love because love is good, not because you’re trying to fix anything within yourself. There will probably be times you do this anyway. Just make a note and ask yourself what you needed at the time. Don’t be afraid to go to therapy ever to deal with those questions….
I love you, earnestly and truly. I love you for the wonderful things about you and for the flaws we all have, that are about to begin being knocked off by your experiences in the world. Brave girl, you are always in my heart and I will always be with you in spirit, in love and in presence whenever I can…..
Lastly, I am always proud of you even if you ignore all this heartfelt advice. You will probably forget most of it at first, but maybe in six months or even six years you will remember this letter and pick it up again. I pray that whenever you pick it up, no matter how often or otherwise – you will find something in it that gives you hope, something that reminds you of what you can do to help any situation you are in. Remember you are only a supporting actor in the lives of all those people you’ll be around… but you can still win Academy Awards for that. So live well to encourage and support others. And live well to make a great story…..
She gives me strength, when I see her persevere. When I know my words lift her up, my spirit is also lifted. I want to say to her, ‘Daughter.. when you lift your eyes, my eyes are lifted to the horizon’. When you steady your heart against the tide, my heart is steadied.. because we share a name.
That name is Courage. Sometimes I remind her, sometimes she reminds me. We are bonded in that, my girl and I.
Tash McGill is a broadcaster, writer and strategist who works with people and organisations to solve problems and create transformation. She believes people are the most important thing and that stories are powerful ways of changing the world. You can find out more at tashmcgill.com or by visiting her LinkedIn profile.
