Obsessed Much

Just over a week ago I finished a month long, five sessions a week, yoga challenge. The key word in there being “finished”.

So where do I begin…

Yoga has always been something that I enjoyed, never properly understood, but enjoyed. People talk about it as a practise. Sometimes there was chanting and often there were poses that seemed so impossible they make you giggle just imagining yourself trying to attempt them. Over the years, I’ve dipped in and dipped out again. Never one to attend more than one class (maybe two at a stretch) a week.

January 1st this year, I was not having a wonderful day. I was tired, not feeling well and lacking any motivation or enthusiasm for the year ahead (like I thought I should, considering it was the New Year). I won’t unpack that all right here, but I imagine most people can associate with that feeling at some stage.

Something came over me, I realised I needed space, in my mind, to reset. So I decided to do some yoga.

It was the reset that I craved and needed and resulted in me rolling out my mat every day in January. Mostly at 6am with the balcony doors wide open and the sun coming up. Over that time, I became reasonably savvy navigating ‘Yoga with Adriene’s’ YouTube channel. In short, I needed (and succeeded) to remove all the barriers to getting “on my mat”, even if just for 15 or 20 min. My interest grew alongside my eagerness to improve and explore, which is a little hard in your lounge with a video.

Alongside my solo yoga time I was dabbling in some sessions at a local Yoga Studio (Kindred Movement). The main drawcard was that I usually met up with either one of my friends or my sister (Jess). It was a win, win really. I got to spend time with some people that I love and although this was a pretty serious studio of serious Yoga people (I refuse to use the word Yogi’s), the teachers were all thoughtful, approachable and diverse in their teachings.

Then along came the challenge. I debated committing, then wondered why I was hesitant. Eventually realising that this was the perfect way to stay focussed, find the calm in my storm and spend time with my sister.

It wasn’t easy, sometimes I felt like I didn't have the time or energy. There were a few comments about why I didn’t drink beer at work on a Friday anymore, instead opting for a 75 min Yang & Yin class. My social life took a bit of a hit and there were some compromises that were made.

Sometimes our storm can be a period of high stress and anxiety without even being aware. I think that’s been me, I think that is just me actually. Over the last few months I have been in and still are in the process of waiting to find out where I will be in a few weeks or months. What was supposed to be a move in January, is still unknown and that uncertainty sits at the back of my mind. Always.

Perhaps some would call it a distraction. I call it taking time to make sure I do the things that make me feel good and Yoga makes me feel phenomenal. It brings calmness to a mind that never stops. It makes me more conscious of my breath, slowing it down and realising there is no rush, things will happen, when they happen.

Just this weekend Jess and I went to a 75 min Yoga Flow class followed by a coffee. I actually cried with laughter sharing some of the things that even just a month ago I had been completely unaware of. Things that without my wonderful, yoga-teaching sister, through her observations and support of my practise, and the other teachers in the studio, I likely would have continued unaware of. They are little things. Ok some of them I may be really proud of. But they all help me to be a little more aware of my body, the way I move, my posture (which still needs a lot of work) and letting go of the things which no longer serve me (I am still working on this one). I also can’t believe that I used that phrase with no hesitation.

Yoga really is a practise. It isn’t something you just do, for the sake of doing (although of course it can be), yoga is about giving back to this body and mind of yours which carries you every day.

Four weeks are down, 20 sessions are completed. A few new muscles have been flexed and the realisation that it has been a ridiculously long time since I have dedicated myself to something which was just for me. Something that, when I look back on, I can see how I have evolved, improved, explored and quite simply put - has made me much happier.

Every day sees me throwing myself into challenges and situations that make me feel uncomfortable. Pushing myself to explore new approaches to resolve problems that arise. Figuring out how to support everyone else to be their best selves... amongst all these things, it would seem, I’d forgotten to look after myself.

My normal commute is a cycle. 25 minutes on my bike (my very beautiful bike), darting in and out of the lines of traffic. Frequently feeling grateful that I’m still alive by the time I get to work or home at the end of the day.

As much as I love “beating” the traffic, getting my heart rate up as part of my commute and watching the seasons change throughout the year, I’m not always convinced I need such frequent reminders of how precious and fragile life is.

One day this week I commuted into the city. For the first time… in so long that I can’t remember, have I even done it? I needed it though, without even realising it. I needed reminder of just how amazing and crazy it is existing in such a large city with so many people.

If I am 100% honest with you, I was a little anxious. It has been such a long time since I voluntarily thrust myself into a situation where I would have so much unwanted physical contact with strangers. A human sandwich, or as most people know it, a commute. I survived, and it was worth it.

Stepping onto the platform at Southern Cross Station, joining the crowds, I was reminded of how good it can sometimes be to be surrounded by people, by strangers. Where it doesn’t matter who you are or what you are doing. What anyone thinks or what you think. That there is so much that separates us - our individuality, our emotions, our motives, the things we want. Yet these exact things that also make us so similar.

Walking along the street, I spotted a man catch sight of a dancing dandelion. His smile as he lightly caught it in his grip reminded me that some things can be simple if we let them be.

My day started with no alarm, which is arguably one of my favourite ways to wake.

A sneak peak at Slack and my work emails saw me tying up a few loose ends from the week - the perks of supporting a team in America. The edge taken off by a cup of coffee, which was brewed by a certain someone before they left for a morning spin class.

Soon I was settling back into my current read - The Culture Map (Erin Meyer). I won’t dive into this now, but let’s just say I gave it a 5 on Goodreads and have every intention of, not just referencing in the future, but also reading another one, two or three more times.

Content, pleased it was the weekend, I took my sweet time rolling out of bed and into my comfies for some yoga. To stretch, move and give these growing creaky joints a bit of love. Yeah, yeah, yeah - I know, I am still “young” that doesn’t mean I haven’t noticed that things have started feeling different.

All of this goodness in my morning, made for slightly less guilt as I slipped on my corduroy pinafore, blocked up all my visible skin and slung my picnic rug into my bag as I headed off to the Brewers Festival. Beer was consumed, a lot of really good beer - some of which made it back into our fridge in the form of takeaway cans. The combination of sun, shade, live (mostly good) music, cold brews and accessible food trucks made for a pretty content Sophie.

Because it was an afternoon festival, an early evening walk along the river saw us collecting some Korean Fried Chicken (which we regretted today). Settling into watch a movie… a movie that I am not sure I should mention because of how bad and embarrassing it was (blink and pretend you didn’t read this - Boss Baby), eating our chicken and in bed before 11pm.

Now, once upon a time… I likely would have consumed more alcohol than I did, heck, I definitely wouldn’t of stopped consuming alcohol when I did. Instead of Fried Chicken, kids movies and a pint of water, I likely would have been drawn in to a search to find the park party we could hear but not see on the way home. I probably would have gone to sleep not thinking about anything. If I was thinking, it would have been how much of a bloody good time I’d had, how much I love summer or whatever I had planned for next Saturday.

Instead, I went to sleep thinking ‘I hope I don’t feel too bad in the morning, I must remember to have a rehydration sachet when I wake because I really don’t think I’ve had enough water today and I was out in the sun for longer than I usually am’.

This week I learnt what nihilism meant. I’d never heard of the word before, I had to look it up. 

“the belief that nothing in the world has a real existence” or “the belief that life has no intrinsic meaning or value”

It makes sense, it explains, nearly perfectly that overwhelming sense of despair - at the end of the day, none of this matters. It doesn’t come often, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t, on occasion sneak up and consume.

Why this word, this week? At the moment I am reading a book by Reni Eddo-Lodge, ‘Why I’m No Longer Talking To White People About Race’. It’s fabulous, it’s scary and I can’t quite remember the last time that I felt so constrained, so overwhelmed, so much regret, embarrassment, sadness and such realisation as I have reading this books. It’s hard, really, really hard. To all of a sudden realise you are a by product of a systemically racist world, constantly, positively impacted at every stage by the privilege that currently exists to be born a white person.

Tying this in with the fact that this week was International Women’s Day. A day which is now universally celebrated to not just praise all the wonderful women in the world but also raise awareness of the big divide that still exists between males and females around the world. It is the lack of basic human rights - unequal pay, opportunity, representation in leadership and sexism… There are a few who still refuse to believe this is a problem, there is still work to be done. I now realise though that there are still so many, too many, who refuse to believe that racism is still a problem. So we have an incredible amount of work to do comparably. It isn’t the overtly racist that I am referring to but the prejudices and biases that exist in every day life, that nearly all of us, likely unknowingly, are responsible for.

Then the word nihilism comes up, I feel paralysed. It’s 2018, sure slavery (at large) “no longer exists”, but there is a large percentage of the worlds population who will constantly live in the shadow of our expectations and prejudice society. 

What can I do? I’m still figuring this out. But the one thing I can immediately do, is talk about it. I can acknowledge that I am part of the problem. I can be consciously aware and try my best to ensure I don’t contribute moving forward. I can advocate. I can help raise awareness. I can try to create opportunities and I can call it out.

I had an afternoon. I had a new journal. I had a new pen. I had a beer. I had a quiet corner. 

I wanted to share, my story.

I thought it would be liberating. I thought it would help. I thought things would become clearer and so I could begin to understand.

Word followed word. Sentence followed sentence. Paragraph followed paragraph. The page was no longer blank and my beer was no longer full.

And I felt sad. An overwhelming, empty, sadness. Not for me, but for the hundreds, thousands and millions of women and men who are raped, abused, taken advantage of and disrespected.

My experiences, although a stark reminder of the normalised behaviour we accept, seem trivial in comparison to the lives that have crumbled from stolen power.

I grappled so long with this title, this label... this... way of life. It often seemed shrouded in mystery. A dirty term for a group of people, often man hating, freedom from the razor type folks who sung of nought else except woman’s rights.

“Are you a feminist?” “Am I a feminist? No, of course not. What are you talking about?” 

That would of been my response. A clear distancing of myself from an often despised group of people.

To be honest, I am embarrassed. Disappointed. Sad.

I never bothered to take the time to be curious, to understand, to question the status quo, to wonder if I was wrong, if I should expect more from the world.

This is for all, those that have been, those that are and those that will be - dear to me.

This blog started just a few years shy of ten years ago. I say it like that because, it has been close to a decade and that is not an insignificant number.

For those that weren’t or have forgotten, it started on a warm summer’s day lazing on the couch. With an eagerness to share all of my obsessions with the world, I started. It began to inspire, humour, entertain and build an understanding of the things that I care about.

Over time, it became less about obsessions and more about life, the everyday, self indulgent life we live which we will not often admit or know it is such. My aim was still to humour, entertain and maybe even inspire.

Then. Life kind of took a turn. Things got too hard to share. Things were no longer shiny, exciting, fun, humorous or entertaining. Thoughts were consumed and were both to hard to understand or put into words and unbelievably painful. I smiled still, laughed sometimes and occasionally got a glimpse of what has been or what might be. All in all, I didn’t feel or believe I had anything to share that would bring a smile to the faces of the people I love.

So much has passed since I was last here. For much of that I ached to begin all over again, but I didn’t know where to start. I knew I had to start again, but I didn’t know how.

Today is a special day. It has been for as long as I can remember. 

Failed attempts at making tea in bed just the way you liked it, too much milk, not brewed long enough, brewed too long. 

It never really mattered, it was still special. 

Through the cycle of home made cards, awful home cooked meals without any adult input and dinner at odd times because time management was a little inconsistent.

It never really mattered, it was still special.

Gifts of super glue, hard boiled english sweets and after dinner mints. There were no surprises. 

But that never really mattered either, it was still special.

Even when we were older, and maybe we couldn’t be there, you always got at least a call, sometimes even twice a year when it was Father’s Day in London. 

Because it’s a special day and you are special.

None will ever be quite as special as this year though. Because today we have to start again and learn to celebrate in a new way. 

It’s not easy, it took lots of figuring out, many tears and a very brave smile. Only possible knowing that it is the way that you would have wanted it be. 

Today is for you. To remember that you are still you and will always be you. Today I will remember and celebrate that you will continue to exist in my life just as true as the sun shining.

Today is a special day, and you are a special person that deserves to be forever celebrated.

Some days you feel invincible. Indestructible. The impossible is nonexistent.

Some days you feel quite the opposite.

Job hunting is a roller coaster, within the space of half an hour you can literally experience the entire spectrum. A series of first impression filled with second guesses, bouts of confidence and equal parts of self doubt. Clammy handshakes, coughing fits, productive conversations and confusing question after question. Heart caught in your throat, in love with a role to wondering what the fastest way to excuse yourself from an interview can be.

 Over the last month I have experienced it all and I am still looking.

 Considering my employment search to date I hadn't expected  it to take nearly this long. Memories of previous job hunts consisted of a short period of looking followed by a few successful interviews and almost always a job offer for one of the first ones I'd put my hand up for. I now often wonder if my memory has distorted over time. Maybe it wasn't like that at all. Maybe I'm not invincible.

I knew this day was inevitable. I still remember out shopping at D.E.K.A when I was knee high with mum when she would get asked. Never understanding her shocked, embarrassed and upset responses. It seemed it would be only time before people broke all proper etiquette and blurted the question out to me too.

Regardless. Saturday morning in the pharmacy, topping up my travel pass, it was not what I was expecting to hear from the women behind the counter.

It took me by surprise. Babies were the last thing on my mind as we ventured off to the Museum to see the dinosaur exhibition. I was just about to relive some childhood fun to see the life size dino’s. Not have a child myself.

I’m not even sure what my very initial response was. Did I say “Excuse me??” or did I immediately start laughing as “No, no, no, no babies for me!!” came out of my mouth.

And it was funny, for a moment. Until the realisation dawned on me. I looked pregnant. What does that mean? I’m pretty sure it wasn’t because I was glowing but that my navy blue high waisted swing skirt coupled with my poor posture made it look like my protruding belly was holding a baby.

Once upon a time I used to pride myself on my ability to keep tears at bay. For many years the only time I can remember crying could be counted on one hand. Feeling them coming I would excuse myself to have a shower where no one would be able to hear the sobs. Otherwise they were silent, slipping down my face tucked up in bed, usually feeling a little under the weather (often self-induced), watching an embarrassingly trashy film and totally sucked in by the cliché story line.

Now it is another story. Over the course of the last year I couldn’t possibly even guess the amount of times. Ten? No, more… 30? Perhaps. More likely 50 or more? Once a week or so? That sounds more realistic.

Slowly the ability to keep the tears away has become more and more difficult. Sometimes alone, as I walk along, contemplating and over thinking. Lying in bed watching a movie, unnecessarily involved in the characters’ lives. Otherwise moments overcome with no notice. More often though it is with witnesses (unfortunately)... Skyping my boyfriend in Melbourne when all I want is a hug. Over drinks with friends when the conversation steers towards life. Sitting at my desk at work listening to music and a song my papa was considering for his funeral randomly comes on … or telling my manager that I have decided to leave the organisation.

Just a week ago I was off to meet my friend for coffee on my lunch break. Pre long weekend good mood I thought I might message her in advance “I promise not to cry this time”. Thankfully I didn’t… Sitting there, in the café we laughed about how crazy everything can seem sometimes. We talked about work, budgeting, progress made on projects and shared recipes. Then, the baby photos came out. And there was her niece looking the picture of angelic and before I knew it… my eyes started welling up.

... With one flight and one day to go.

I guess I wondered what life would entail when I moved back to New Zealand. It’s been over 6 months now and I can quite honestly say it is nothing like I imagined.

Friday 20th November - I flew to Melbourne. Melbourne because one of my very favourite people live there. Considering he wouldn’t be able to make it to New Zealand for my birthday I wanted to celebrate in some shape or form with him. And celebrate we did, exactly how I wanted (of course!!) ... with food and beer, sleep ins and brunch.

Monday 23rd November - I flew back to Wellington a family birthday dinner on Tuesday, Tame Impala (who was AMAZING) on Wednesday and Thursday set aside for chores and an early night. 

Friday 27th November - I flew to Christchurch for a wonderful friends Hen’s Party. We had to buy a small gift to reflect our friendship... to be honest I choked. I’ve been away for four years, what on earth will I get?? My mind raced and all that I could think of were my last memories of the things we used to do... dirty drunken nights... A bottle of Bernadino = Perfect! It wasn’t until it was too late that I remembered the birthday parties when we were at primary school, the same teachers we shared and our obsession with the Spice Girls.

Sunday 29th November- I flew back to Wellington. Tired. Before I even sat down I unpacked, repacked and then ate dinner... before crawling into bed and sighing with relief.

Monday 30th November - I flew to Auckland. And here i have been all week. On Tuesday I worked from my brothers house and when it was time for a break I got cuddles and the biggest smiles and laughs from my adorable nephew. Wednesday induction began (yes, I did start my job 8 months ago - but I when it was the last induction I was still just a temp!) Again today, induction. And tomorrow, the last day of induction before...

Friday 4th December - I will be flying to Wellington, getting home at 11pm.... to stay, for the night. Then it just so happens that I will be away for the next two nights.

Right now it is all but 10pm, I’ve not long been in from work dinner and drinks. The first thing I did was open my computer to play Max Richter (If you don’t have him in your life already you should fix that) then I ironed my shirt for tomorrow. It was at this moment I realised... this is my life. This isn’t life as I imagined it would be in New Zealand. I imagined camping and quiet nights in. Baking and stewing fruits. Night classes and weekend camping trips. The reality is that it appears I am the same person I was in London. Constantly planning the next trip - obsessed with keeping busy. Restless. Unbelievably content in the quiet moments, craving them constantly when they don’t exist but simultaneously addicted.... keeping busy and maximising every... single... moment.

Now I will shower, crawl into bed, curl into a ball and fall into a deep, well deserved sleep. 

Lately I often find myself craving normality. Sunday sleep ins followed by leisurely breakfasts sitting in the sun... reading, eating toast and drinking one cup of coffee after another in no hurry to move, get changed or start the day. Pottering about the house, doing washing, thinking about what to cook, listening to music and moments of peacefulness. All seemingly boring but none the less, craved.

Instead I find myself in a grey area. Occasionally I will get a glimpse of normality, but it is neither black or white. It is muddy, not transparent, there is no way to see or pre empt what may happen.

Today I worked from home. In the morning, sitting at the breakfast bar, eating toast, drinking coffee, checking emails and thinking about what I might tackle first I simultaneously watched my ma and pa potter about making there breakfast too. Normally families might talk about the weather, the garden, the news, the days agenda... Normal wouldn’t consist of a candid conversation about funeral planning, discussing what food would be best... can scones be made in advance and frozen? Perhaps we could have a proper meal? Curry and rice? No dad, do you really think people will want a heavy meal post funeral? But this won’t be a sad funeral!! It might not be sad but there will always be melancholy. No, we should probably have something that will appeal to more people... Normal wouldn’t consist of a quick google of funeral pamphlet ideas either or a consideration of different possible venues.

I normally don’t need an invitation to launch into a story. It wouldn’t be all that strange to find me mid ramble, sharing a series of events, descriptive narrative or maybe even a rendition. 

It’s no surprise then that last week, when asked by my friends back in London to tell them a story, that I launched straight into an account of the previous weeks events. This was quickly followed by “why haven’t you been blogging lately??” And I haven’t and I feel bad. Why? Because some things in life make you feel good... food, beer, music, running, eating, more beer, spending money, sleeping... writing. The  list can go on. The problem it is that sometimes priorities get all shuffled up, lost and basically you muddle up the order and for all your intent to do EVERYTHING... you often find yourself not quite achieving that.

For the last few weeks my life has being consumed with things. The kind of things that mean clothes get flung on the floor at the end of the day when bed and the person waiting for you in there is far more appealing then being tidy. Hangovers are settling in permanently, the last time you made a meal is becoming a distant memory and you no longer sign on to internet banking because you’d just rather not know.

I’m not going to lie - I have so many exciting things to look forward to that it isn’t dreadful getting out of the bed in the morning. Which has got to be a good thing! But after every bout of frivolous behaviour there is usually a lock down.

Which leads me to tonight. Tuesday 18th August 2015. Sitting cross legged on my bed eating leftovers after declining a Wellington on a Plate burger night out. Feeling guilty for buying a 60w lamp when I should of got a 15w and wasting $1.60 in the process...  Contemplating whether it is a feeling of achievement or emptiness at the lack of alcohol consumption in over a week. Waiting patiently for the day when those aching muscles will make me feel good because right now, I have no idea why I used to put myself through that pain so often.

So for the next two weeks my lock down involves: No drinking. Money is to only be spent on necessities aka groceries and coffee from Lamasons (maybe x1 burger per week for Wellington on a Plate as well). Yoga. Running. Vikings. And visits home to see the family. 

For as long as I can remember my parents have wanted to build there own big family home. As a child the idea seemed so distant it was hard to imagine. The years passed and several houses were rented, then one was brought and a cycle of renovation had started.

By the time I was off to University a property had been purchased and the dream was taking shape.

But I never had a home anymore. No physical location where I could associate with as the place that was safe. I visited my parents at there various rentals. Occasionally over University holidays I would spend the day working with my uncle and dad, up in the rafters, banging in nails - helping as much as I could.

Then I was 21. The house was up, but still a work in progress. The carpet, tiles and doors were missing for some rooms. The garden didn’t have much, if any grass and any colour was a feeble attempt form the rosemary newly planted on the banks.

Surrounded by friends and family celebrating a “coming of age” in our new home we were all of a sudden being herded outside. Grandad was across the pond, planting a tree, a walnut tree, for me. For my birthday and I stood there smiling politely - what a nice idea… Well at least for mum and dad and there empty garden perhaps. Everyone drifted off… conversations continued and glasses were filled.

Visits home became less frequent, caught up in life and then a move overseas. I was vaguely aware that this tree was been cared for. A fence had been build by someone. Built higher again to protect it from the cows in the paddock. Skypes home would be dad with his new iPad walking me outside to the tree chattering constantly all the while, updating me on its progress. It made me smile. For my dad and his obvious excitement. But not for the tree.

Now I am back in New Zealand. Everything and nothing has changed. The reality that nothing is forever is all to real. When you are 10 you feel old enough and wise enough. But you really weren’t. When you are 21 you are an adult so obviously you know what is important and what isn’t. Now all of a sudden you realise that actually you don’t know much. Apart from … that it is your tree.