the genius and the teacher

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No man is your enemy, no man is your friend. Every man is your teacher.

A likely story. But not so easy to accept when we are not in tune with someone else or we just don’t see eye-to-eye or we’re not on the same page or we’re at each others throats. Know what I mean?

Last week I expressed my gratitude to all of y’all and I’m not saying that this week the honeymoon is over, not at all. But I wanted to expand on that. First comes love and then what?

Well, then comes finding out that we are different.

Yesterday I was listening to an interview with Kate Bernhardt where she was explaining Carl Jung’s genius types. Jung published his theories in 1921 as a biblical-sized book called Personality Types. Then during World War Two, when women were sent to work without knowing what skill sets they had, Katherine Cook Briggs and her daughter, Isabel Briggs Myers, turned Jung’s study into a personality test for practical use. Perhaps you have heard of or taken the Myers Briggs test?

According to Kate Bernhardt, Jung’s original work was much more detailed, but I will attempt to recall what she said about it. Basically there are eight personality types that all of us can be categorized into. We are born this way, with certain areas of our brain having more active neurons in the corresponding parts.  Our personality type indicates the way in which we process information. She compares it to different opperating systems on the computer, like using Excel or Word. Both these systems process and use information in their own way. Our brains deal with information in similarly different ways.

Ms Bernhardt gave the example of Albert Einstein, whose internal world was so intricately organised that he needed freedom on the outside world. He was famous for looking eccentric with crooked glasses and uncombed hair and apparently would go out in his boxer shorts at times, as putting pants on had slipped his mind. Physicists share similar characteristics and we can also think of the absent minded professor, mumbling and fumbling amongst his piles of books. For others, whose internal world is not ordered, they need to create order in their environment, and everything must be neat and tidy. It is not as simple as neat or not neat, obviously, but these are just some examples she gave.

As our processes are in-built from birth, it does not change during our life-time, but can mature and develop and by accepting what kind of processor we are, we can function at a genius level. So Gandi, Jesus and Martin Luther King were the same type, as were Steve Jobs and Bill Gates.

It’s great to find out that you are actually a genius right? Perhaps you expected it all along or it may even come as a complete surprise. Only one thing’s for sure – thinking you’re a genius is not going to help you get out of a fight.

So often in life we are made to address the issues of what we are not or we blame others for what they aren’t. In knowing what we are and how we work, perhaps we are freed from feelings of inadequacy for those things we seem incapable of and we are also hopefully able to understand others better. Now we have something real to blame – neurological differences!

And if we are all processing the world differently, then wouldn’t this be the cause of so much conflict? We find it strange that someone else acted in a certain way when we wouldn’t have done or said the same. But we are only perceiving the world through a certain filter and theirs may be different. And often we are attracted to exactly those people who process information differently - they have what we lack – and so conflict is guaranteed.

This is exactly where the gold lies though – the people closest to us have the most to teach us.  The conflict is an opportunity for us to work through and clear our shit. Sometimes our reaction to other people is to close up and get defensive, unconsciously we blame the other to protect our own ego. If we do this, we are missing the chance to step into a higher state of being.

And what do I mean by ‘shit’? I’m sure we all know what our shit is. I think of it as the repeated habits or ways of thinking that keep us small and stop us from living a full life. We all want love and connection and interesting conversation and a healthy body and to be heard and respected and to do satisfying work and help others and have pleasure everyday and to be divinely guided and feel abundantly wealthy and creative and get a good night’s sleep. Have I missed anything? So what is standing in our way of having all of that now?

Only ourselves.

And these repetitive thoughts.

And these behaviours that don’t serve us.

Maybe there is someone bugging you at work. Or home. Or at coffee. Or on the team. Or at the pub. Or at the family gathering. Maybe your reaction is to plan your escape or to yell or to blame or to strike out or to sulk or to bitch or to go into your cave or to tune out. Or all of the above.

But these people – you and me – are here to teach us. We need this friction in our lives to grow. Without it, an endless summer with no seasons.

It is easy to write when you know what you want to say. It is easy to laugh when you’re happy. It is easy to talk when everyone is getting on. It is easy to love when the other person thinks the sun shines out of your arse. The real work is in loving, doing and being despite….

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a love letter to you

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Hello people of this world! 

Today my brain has been cranking away, it’s been racked and wrung for a little insider information. I’ve been looking for a quiet corner in there – some place where the words are hiding and things make sense – a place where what wants to be said is backed up by real feelings too. There are lots of ideas swirling round, getting down, but somehow they don’t feel right today. I’m trying to find something decent to say, something with congruency, something not too moralistic or high-horsey. And there’s one thought I keep coming back to and so I have to admit it now…

I’m in love with you.

That’s right – you!

If you are reading this blog then you are already identified as a super cool person in my books and I’m sure that whether we know each other or not, that we share something in common. Not that this is a pre-requisite for love – I’d love you anyway.

And no, I have not popped an ‘e’ and nor have I spent my day off tailing pedestrians and trying to catch their eye to confirm this connection to the whole of mankind.

I was pretty much alone all day.

But I know I love you, people of this world, because…

You’re the reason I love to travel. I love to rely on the kindness of strangers. Things work out in foreign lands. Hostels are fun. Camping is fun. It’s all about the people. Conversations make the trip. Cool and kind people exist in vast quantities in every land. It is not like on the news or in the movies. There are not that many arseholes in the world as you would assume if you just sat at home watching TV.

You’re the reason I love to live in foreign lands. You show up and help – even though you don’t have to. You bring fun, we laugh, we hold on and then we both slip back into our own worlds. But I think about you sometimes. Fondly. You teach me that love is not about the best bakeries and that stone walls do not a city make. We come from all over the world but I still know you. We don’t talk too much about tomorrow. We are here today.

You’re the reason work is fun. We catch the bus together, we talk shit, we start and end our day in this ongoing conversation, I look for you at lunch, we laugh, we relate, slowly we crawl in. Now we are outside and we are meeting again. You do my nails, we like on Facebook, we have reunions, you invite me to sunbathe with you at the lake, we go on holidays together, you move into my neighbourhood. We really do stay in touch – these are not just words.

You’re the reason I enjoyed being a teacher. We spent weeks together, we discovered, you got to talk about you and sometimes I told you a little about my life too (sometimes I told you a lot). Maybe you could see me through my H & M suit and the thin mask of being the responsible one? We climbed a fence once to get a better view of the city – that’s when you knew me the best. I gave you my energy and you gave me some back too (sometimes you gave so much it made me want to hug you) and then you gave me flowers or chocolates or some matryoshka dolls or something you’d brought back from your homeland or a scarf because you saw how much I wore them.  Or a card with all your words of thanks piled high. I felt like the luckiest girl in the world.

You’re the reason I like to read and write. And look at pictures and watch movies and watch crap shows like Geordie Shore and Teen Mom (well, everyone else thinks they’re crap anyway). You are interesting. You do strange things sometimes – things that I or the next person wouldn’t do or say, but that’s okay because things makes you you and you find me a little strange too anyway. Like, right now maybe. Why is she gushing? Why is she wearing her heart inside out? Why today? What happened to her? I wonder about you too sometimes and other times I just want to be like you. But more often I just want to talk to you, or be near you, or just know you are okay.

You’re the reason that home is home. I come back again and again and you always let me back in. We know our faults – these become our jokes. But you give me freedom to grow. Sometimes we are growing in different directions and we don’t speak for ages and we think there’s something wrong maybe but then we find out no, actually, everything is okay. We are different but somethings will never change. You always know where I came from and how far I’ve travelled, as I do you. In fact, the longer we are on this earth, the stronger we feel.

Family, my parents, my in-laws, friends new and old, cousins I’ve grown up with, cousins overseas, cousins I’d lost touch with till recently, aunties and uncles, friends of friends who became friends too, neighbours, family friends who’ve been a constant in my life, friends of my parents, high-school sisters, colleagues, ex-students, friends in foreign lands, those I knew only briefly, those I’ve lost touch with, people I follow on Instagram that I don’t even know personally, blog writers that pour out the heart and their humour, strangers on the street that smile and hold doors open and you, M.

… so much love, so much each one gives to make this world a cool place to live in. And not like on the news. When I think of all the loving cool amazing people I know and have known (and will know), my mind goes off spinning into infinity. I feel so rich in friendships and kindness and fun.

So I wanted to say thank you.

Love xxx

making love on a thursday…

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your smart mouth

Together since the world began; the madman and the lover.

I found those words in the pre-pages of The Doors biography I read when I was fifteen. Those words spoke to me then. I knew what it meant to be mad and in love. This is what fifteen-year-old girls know.

These words placed together so perfectly, with the wedge of semi-colon connecting the two halves, seemed to be the only thing one needed to know in life. These words were my initiation into an altered state of being. The craziness meant something. These words brought comfort to my achy heart and turned my embarrassing desperation into poetry.

Language is like that. Language has the power to transform darkness to light.

Words can comfort and soothe. Words can make it better. Words have such power.

Like Sorry.

There are so many things that I could say about language – I think about it a lot – I work with it every day, it is my bread and also my butter. But it’s more than that.

Language is such a gift and I happen to be one gal who’s truly madly deeply in love with language.  Well, English mainly.  I have a major crush on English. I apologise to all the other languages out there but I’m sure you feel the same about your first love. English – it’s been inside of me the longest. Plus, it has that bulging load of words that’s way bigger than all the rest. It has one million words and counting – are you impressed?

But anyway, I’m not here to brag. I’m here to express my total adoration.

First, a word about the brilliance of punctuation; it is so easily forgotten but is just as helpful and meaningful in communication. I love the way the semi-colon builds a bridge and connects thoughts between two sentences that would otherwise be fully-stopped and cut off and I love the suggestiveness of the dot dot dot. It adds mystery, like there’s more to be said, like I’m not telling you everything. It’s the black bra under the white t-shirt…

I like the under-use of the exclamation mark. It adds dryness and subtlety to one’s words. Try it, you might like it.

I can't wait to be defined

I can’t wait to be defined

Yes, I am a fully attached to this lovely language. I collect fine words and flawless sentences. Like the following from Miranda July’s collection of short-stories, No one belongs here more than you. The main character is describing a scene at her therapists where she’s been crying.

Ruth hands me a Kleenex box and our time is up. I half blow my nose, waiting till I get outside to do the full blow.

The full blow! What a freaking genius!!

I love things that are profound in their observation of miniscule fragments of the everyday. Like, the full blow – how true is that! But no one else thought to mention it.

Probably she thought up this term having a funny conversation late night at a party. It reminds me of something my friend Nic Maher might say. We’d have a whole conversation about the full blow.

It’s not only in literature that I appreciate an original turn of phrase. It’s just as special in conversation with the oomph of emotion or dryness of those people who are just incredibly funny and can get their words out without cracking up at their own jokes. I admire this very much.

velvet is sexy

(I laugh at my own jokes just as soon as I realise the other person finds it funny. Then, I really let my laugher loose)

Now, I must admit that Italian seems to be a fun language to play with, and especially to swear with, but we’ll save that for another time. I am a faithful lover.

When reading, I like to note down beautiful passages that speak to me. I save them for later to savour. With No one belongs here more than you, there was a point when I thought I might as well copy down the whole book. Every word was in its rightful place. Every line was brilliant.

This was another part noted down, about a couple on the verge of break-up.

The drive home was long and sealed in a drowning silence. Walking across the front lawn, Carl stopped to recoil the hose that I had left out the day before.

My immediate thoughts :

Recoil – what a great word.

Sealed in a drowning silence – the end of a relationship, I know that silence. But life goes on. Even through one’s misery there are still hoses to be recoiled. We have to keep up with the every day. Life goes on.

Miranda July sure does know us humans.

And She left the hose out. Miranda can say so much without spelling it out. It is more poignant to not say everything, that’s what I’m learning. The words you include have more meaning that way.

clam is not sexy

clam is not sexy

Another book I love is The Virgin Suicides,

It was Tuesday and she smelt of furniture polish.

This feels to me like the greatest truth ever told. Why is that?

There was music from my neighbour’s house through the summer nights. In his blue gardens men and women came and went like moths amongst the champagne and whisperings and the stars.

- F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby

I never knew that one day I’d appreciate imagery and be able to speak of it as if I were reciting pages of Cliffs notes. The way I chattered my way through high-school, my literature teachers probably would have voted me ‘least likely’. But then, I like to think I didn’t peak in high-school.

I never knew I’d be such a seeker of fine cunning linguists.

(Allow me one bad joke)

I never knew there was such pleasure to be had in putting words together in new ways, untangling clichés, creating life on the page.

I never knew that words would come to me when I was alone. I never knew that words would be my home.

just one word. what more is there to say?

just one word. what more is there to say?

one day baby we’ll be old…

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Okay so maybe it wasn’t the best idea to write the post on inspiration when I was feeling uninspired. Did it get me in the mood? Not this time. I still felt steam-rolled afterwards, like I couldn’t catch my breath and was limping around lopsided, like the hunchback of Luzern. Call me melodramatic, call me what you like, but it’s just not in my constitution to be breathing out so much all day. It takes a while to get back to me. Do you know what I mean? Have you also been feeling like a tube of toothpaste being squeezed? Like you’re waiting for the ride to stop so you can run and throw up?

Why did I insist on powering on then? Because it was Thursday and because I’ve made a commitment to you and to me. There are certain things in our lives that should be non-negotiable, no matter what’s going on in the galaxy around us. Our heads may be spinning, but we need those things that keep us on the axis, that stop our heads from being flung off into the deep reaches of outerspace.

Commitment. In good times and in bad.

Commit to the life you want so bad. Then live it.

Elizabeth Gilbert believes that if you are serious about a life of writing or any other creative pursuit, then you must ‘take on this work like a holy calling’. She took a vow and became a ‘Bride-of-writing’. And I believe in Elizabeth Gilbert.

After she graduated from NYU in Creative Writing, she enrolled herself in the school of life and created her own post-graduate program, traveling America and the world, working in bars and listening to the way people talked and gathering experiences. She wrote the whole time.

For me, this past six months, this blog has been my connection to writing. It is my once a week commitment, but it has been enough to keep the relationship alive. I have hopes for a brighter future. One day baby.

I don’t know if this is an original thought or if I’ve read this somewhere before (maybe it was Liz Gilbert in fact) –  the body and mind like to know what’s going on. So if you make a commitment to, say two hours of writing Saturday through Tuesday from 8am to 10am, and you show up, then the mind and the creative source will show up too. It’s a relationship of giving and taking that you are cultivating.

So, as in relationships, commitment is about more than just ‘being there’. True commitment is about showing up with something to give.

And it takes some effort to show up with blood in your veins.

It seems to me that those who excel most in their chosen field take a holistic approach to their lives. Gone are the Hemmingway days of  Parisienne prostitutes and boozy late nights. Artists these days seem to have routines as structured as the rest of the population. They nourish themselves with food and sleep, movement and  solitude.

The prolific Japanese author, Haruki Murakami, in his non-fiction book, ’What I talk about when I talk about running’, compares his marathon training to his life as a writer. When he’s working on a novel he gets up at 4am and goes to bed at 9pm for it, every single day. He says that through the repetition of his routine he mesmerizes himself into a deeper state of mind.  Johnathon Franzen, of Freedom fame, writes through the stillness of the night and edits by the light of day.

This is commitment.

Plus, each writer seems to have a daily routine organised around the actual writing. Activities that support and feed the writer are selected with care. You can find many more examples of this here. We could apply this to anything we really want (weight loss, education, saving money…etc). We need to put some thought into what will get us into the right state of being and we make sacrifices to keep our commitments.

There will be times though that conditions are not ideal, and then we have to stick to our routine anyway. Henry Miller, for example, had his ‘if groggy’, ‘if in fine fettle’ options. Even when hung over he was committed to moving the work along.

PreventionSupplies

As with most things, prevention is better cure. Getting back to our week, most of us pursue our passions in the afterwork hours. So we must ensure we have something left in us to give. There is no point falling off the energetic edge of no return. This is hard to climb back from.

Although at times it feels like a limited resource, there are little things we can do each day to make sure we are using our energy in a sustainable manner. After feeling depleted last week, I was reminded in Melissa D’Antoni’s Creative Abundance course about my morning rituals and routines. Connecting to myself, quiet time, filling the well. Then I have something left for later.

Prevention is about preparation. Another example – did you know that yoga was  created as a way to keep one’s body limber and strong enough for meditation? We think it’s about the stretching and sweating – but all that’s just for the sitting – which really is the hardest part. Sitting still is the hardest part.

And what if we’re still not in the mood? Tonya Leigh says she never does anything when she’s feeling uninspired. She says she only takes ‘inspired action’ and I can see her point. Though this doesn’t mean that she just waits around for the wind to carry some inspiration to whisper “get up” in her ear, but she gets herself inspired first. For her this could be going for a run or simply dressing well, even at home, or going to a fancy hotel lobby with her laptop to work. It could be going for a walk and noticing all the beauty in your surrounds.

On Friday (oh sacred Friday) I had the same experience. I’ll probably never be a person with neat hair, but I do love the effort those J.Lo-alikes put into their grooming and deportment. When we feel good from the morning, like if we look good, if we spend a little longer getting ready, if we are fresh, it totally has the power to carry you stylishly through the whole day. I don’t know about you guys, but it makes me notice the world more, through the veil of my feeling-good mood, to drink my coffee with more pleasure, to chew my food, to have a little swagger in my walk, to be more here, to give more. But hey, maybe it was Friday and maybe I was just chanelling Tonya Leigh…nah, it totally works.

This is where the commitment begins. It’s an intestinal thing, a matter of good digestion and proper nutrition. It’s about going to bed. It’s about testing the bed and the porridge. It’s about reading and writing and doing what you have to do to feel just right. It’s about emoting. It’s about maintaining a stable blood sugar level. It’s about travelling and listening to stranger’s conversations. It’s about your own education. It’s about getting yourself in the mood. It’s about having something to give and having some left over. It’s about energy in motion. It’s emotion.

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Let me know how you feel about commitment or anything else on your mind. I’d love to hear from your side …

Breathing : a collection of musings on Inspiration

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The Inhale

Inspiration is such a lovely word but inspiration itself is overrated. You don’t have to be inspired, you just have to do.

Right now I’m not feeling inspired at all and I don’t know if I should be writing about inspiration. This is an experiment. Will I get inspired through the writing? Is it as I say?

How romantic to be yanking paper from the jaws of a typewriter, scrunching it into a ball and lobbing it at the waste paper bin. How satisfying to get the shot in.

Working with a computer means I can and should write down whatever comes into my head without analysing. Editing comes later. Ideas need to be caught as they come in on a gust of wind.

The History

Inspire = to instil something in the heart or mind of someone or to influence, move, or guide by the divine or supernatural.

Elizabeth Gilbert explains how the ancient Greeks and Romans viewed creativity as not coming from humans but “was a divine attendant spirit that came to human beings from a divine and unknowable source.” The reason they came at certain times was also unknowable and they called these spirits Damens (Greeks) or Genius (Romans). So genius came to an artist as they were doing their work to help and shape the outcome. This belief protected the artist from the result of their work, from both criticism and narcissism.

Today in class as I wrote the word respiration’ on the board, I wondered what it could have in common with the word inspiration. I reminded myself to look it up. It wasn’t the first time I’d wanted to know.

It comes from the Latin Inspirare, meaning to breathe into.

Things that are breath-taking are inspiring. Things that are breath-taking slow our thoughts and clear our mind. We can use our breath to slow our mind. New and more interesting thoughts pierce the surface of our consciousness.

The Visitors

Inspiration is a feeling if wanting to, of being in the mood, motivated, rather than an idea.

It begins with an intention. I have to plan to do something first. My head is not filled with stories, only voices. I have to get quiet to hear them.

These voices live in the depths of my mind, trapped like miners, they burst suddenly into the light.

They belong somewhere, I just know it. I just have to find the right place for each one. I try to hang onto them. I start by writing them all down. Each one deserves a place on the white piece of paper. Each one gains some permanency in black ink.

The Reason

I often don’t know what I think until I write it down. That’s where this urge comes from.

I wanted to live as deeply as Anais Ninn. People living deeply have no fear of death, she said. I wanted to feel as deeply. I wanted to write. But I didn’t know where to start.

One weekend alone in Bombay, my friend Satheesh had given me the job of recording old Hindhi vinyls onto a computer to stop me from getting bored. I was bored. Words came to me, images were born. I wrote.

Stephen King, as a young writer, felt most inspired working in the laundry room of a hospital. Such conditions were fertile grounds for tales of horror. Working as a teacher, he hardly wrote a word.

Inspiration loves monotony.

The Location

There’s a time and place for inspiration. This time is when it’s most inconvenient. Walks at the beach, sitting in the sauna, about to fall asleep – basically any time when you have no pen or paper or phone at hand.

The art gallery is a fine place for inspiration - not in the ’What? I could paint that!’ way. Colour and form breathe into us. The mind slows to the rhythm of the gallery and the art infuses beyond bones and blood vessels, it seeps into the cells.

You will never understand the description on the wall. You don’t have to understand.  You will be inspired, even if you don’t know it yet. Just like what you like and allow yourself to be pulled, even if it is to the fire extinguisher. Take photos and feel good.

The Exhale

I’m 100% sure.

Did you make it up though?

Yes, I did. But I’m 100% sure.

the story of all creation

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Phew! Now that I’ve got out what I wanted to say about my desk, I can carry on with what I actually wanted to write about before I got blown off course. Okay, I promise that was the last of the nautical metaphors.

we're all fronds here

we’re all fronds here

Today a pure white sky sits beyond the rooftops and the wind is making the field of ferns dance outside the window. Clouds have a way of getting us to look inwards. I sure do love me some soft fluff (clouds).

Or perhaps it is the Alain de Botton talk we went to see on Tuesday night in Zurich. In case you don’t know, Alain de Botton  is an amazingly smart and funny philosophical writer, whose books include Essays in Love (about the stages of romantic love), The Art of Travel, The Architecture of Happiness (actually about architecture), How Prouost Can Change Your Life and the latest, Religion for Atheists. If you haven’t read, watched or listened to him, you definitely should. My next book shall be called ‘How Alain de Botton Can Change Your Mind.’

Anyway, the talk was about this latest book – about what aetheists (like himself) can learn from religions. One of the points was about learning – he compared how the basic principal of universities is that you could take a person, open up their head and pour all this information into it and expect them to remember it. Religions do things differently. They take a simple message and repeat it over and over. They know that man is flawed. We want to remember, but we do not. We want to celebrate and comemorate, yet we forget. Religions deal with this realistically by telling us when we should be doing certain things and reserving days in the calendar for them. He gave the example of looking at the moon. We like looking at the moon, we think it’s a good idea and we should do this more but we forget. The Zen Buddhists have a special moon viewing day for this. You see.

This got me thinking about creativity (of course). From my experience, being creative is about making a commitment, sitting down and sticking to it. Of course, it would be so nice to just wake up whenever my body wanted and spend the day in creative pursuit, going with the flow and what not, like in this blog post I recently read. But due to certain constraints on my every day, ‘creative pursuits’ is something that needs to be scheduled in. It must be remembered. It has to be made time for and squashed between must-do chores. But that’s okay. It still happens.

Writing this blog can get crowded out by the necessities of eating and sleeping and working. That’s why it’s Thursday – that’s what I’m saying.

Have I said this all before a thousand times? I probably have. See, Alain de Botton was right again. In that case, I’ll carry on with religious zeal, submitting more intently to the fervor. We could all do with the reminder…

But hang on, creativity is not something that only gets a twenty-minute time slot before breakfast or a couple of hours when you should be at the gym. All of us are always creating. The force of creation is what’s driving the whole universe! Cells are regenerating, plants are organically taking form and babies are being birthed, rocks are turning to sand, fire and wood to ash, asteroids are sculpting new surfaces and somewhere in London a light-switch is being turned on and off and even that is being called art.

So if creation is happening anyway, we might as well put some thought into it.

Everything we do or say is our creation. We are constantly creating our experiences, creating our life.

Take red lipstick. Imagine if you were a woman who wore red lipstick everyday (or for the men if you’d prefer, the equivalent – a beret?). Firstly, you would be making a statement without ever opening your Ruby Tuesday lips. You are projecting an image and creating the art of your life. And red lipstick makes us feel a certain way  – feminine and fierce. You would be influencing your mood. You would be just like Gwen Stefani, who doesn’t just live it, she is it.

Even if we are not conscious of it, our habits and ways become part of our characters in other people’s minds.  I think of the way my Mum drinks her afternoon tea and the way my Dad bangs his fist on the table to wake himself up. Like it or not, we are all memorable.

I have been reading about Kundalini Yoga and have stumbled upon some diamonds. As usual, I look to the wisdom of a genuine yogi to give some razzamattaz to my so-very-humble-human words. And so Yogi Bhajan reminds us,

Whenever you do something, do it as a piece of art. Otherwise just don’t do it. Let everything express the creativity of you.

I hope you don’t get the ‘I don’t have time for this!’ feeling because of this, but look at it as an invitation to get more from the everyday. It is not an item to be added to the ‘things to do’ later list or something to worry about getting perfect, but a way to have more presence and beauty in your life.

We all know when we are dressed well, we feel good. When we cook a pretty dinner, we feel good. When we write our signature, we feel good. When we are face-to-face with fresh flowers, we feel good. When we have an interesting conversation, we feel good. When we read something inspiring, we feel good. And this feeling is available to us everyday if we choose to put a few thoughts into our actions.

Zooming in, what you do is an expression of who you are. Zooming out, we are each just a brushstroke upon the universe.

I think everyday in life is art. What you do. How you dress. The way you love someone. And how you talk. Your smile and your personality. What you believe in, and all your dreams. The way you drink your tea. How you decorate your home. Or party. Your grocery list. The food you make. How your writing looks. And the way you feel.

Life is art.

Sigh

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Life of Mi (ode to desk)

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New York was great and all but I was happy to come back to my desk. My desk is my sanctuary, my shrine, my rubber raft on the sea of life. I need it to navigate through the rough waters and also to enjoy the tranquillity of the calm. I love my pretty little boat, although I like to dip my toe out now and then and go swimming even. But I always return to the boat.

I am also very territorial of the boat. I will not move my papers or take down my pictures for anybody – except if someone was staying over and then it would be embarrassing. I get shy if people look too closely at it because it would be like looking in my brain and reading my secret thoughts. The desk is my own private colony for nudists.  Clothed people are not allowed.

Not a day goes by when I don’t make time to sit at my desk, despite the busyness of the week. The week is gusty and easy to get swept away by.  I tie myself down to the desk.