31.3.11

I'm turning 24 in July. Thankfully, I don't feel scared about it at all.*

 Back in the day..Cheeks like a chipmunk, sparklers under the hills hoist and fairy bread on the table. 

Note the essential Eric and Ariel cake figurines, which I loved.

Having said that, I can definitely understand why some people greet every approaching birthday with intense panic (and trust me, some people do, ask most of my friends). After all, everything in our culture is geared towards youth.

We are taught that to age is to become obsolete, disposable, useless. It equates to loss of physical 'prettiness' (which seems to be right up the top of the list of "things to fear losing" in Western consumer-focused cultures), loss of the ability to 'contribute' to society in economic terms, and thus loss of 'value'. You don't have to look very far for this message, because it's only subtly hidden in almost every ad, every show, every moisturiser product campaign.

In my experience the opposite has always proved true. The older people that I am lucky enough to have in my life are far, far from being in any way obsolete or valueless. I won't try and put in words how much they mean to me, because I couldn't if I tried, but just trust that they are truly beautiful and loving in ways that can't be marketed.

In fact, the more I think about it, everything I have ever learnt has come either from someone else's hard-won insight as a result of living, or from my own. And living entails ageing. It is an inescapable reality that our bodies are constantly getting older, and like any truth, it is better to recognise and accept it rather than make futile attempts at resisting it (collagen suppliers and users take note.)

I think in order to remember this, it helps to change the predominantly fearful perspective on ageing into one of gratitude. That is, to acknowledge that many people would give anything to have their deceased friend or child reach this age. Or even just to be 24 again.

*(this may or may not have something to do with the fact that I have an inexplicable love for the number 42 and am stoked that my age will soon be an anagram of that number: Excellent.)

Unguarded moments.

I confess. 

I have an unlikely obsession with weddings. Not the buying-wedding-magazines-and-cutting-out-your-dream-dress-when-you're-twelve-years-old kind of obsession but more of a curiosity, an amazement, an interest. 

It's unlikely because I'm not too keen on ceremony, awkward family situations, speeches or big puffy white dresses. And I shudder at the thought of people paying huge amounts of money on a flashy wedding while putting in way less effort into working for a good, strong relationship.

BUT..

 Despite all that,  I love weddings (and photos of weddings) for the same reason I like watching people on trains or watching families together at the park, or people reuniting at an airport terminal.

It's the pure emotion, the lack of self-consciousness, the faces and body language that emanate love, celebration, anticipation and uncertainty. I love looking at the intensity of emotions that colour the faces: of the grandparents, the parents, the couples and their friends.

And I think the simpler the wedding, the more beautiful- because it allows all these things to come through.

(My sentimental rant has concluded. This amazing wedding below made me think of a scene from Everything Is Illuminated, or some gypsy celebration. I think it is incredibly beautiful and simple. It looks like it was a lovely day. From oncewed.) 

A man and a loom.

The torrential rain we have been having here for the past few days has stopped. Everything has been given a good wash and the trees, sky, water look clear and bright.

It feels like I'm starting again too, after feeling mostly restless, anxious and overwhelmed last week. It felt like a vague seasickness had decided to take root in my stomach and wouldn't go away. I feel like I've come out of that now but it also made me realise just how much more I need to trust myself, trust my values and trust that feeling of wholeness inside me when things get a bit heavy. If I can't, then I will constantly be depending on other people or things to "make" me happy and I know that is just an impossible request (and I would hate for someone to expect it of me).

I read something today that has stuck with me, a saying by Ghandi that was written on the wall of his ashram:

My life is my message.

It's such a simple philosophy but one that I would like to keep in mind more often. When I think about what "message" my life expresses now compared to what I would like it to say..well, let's just say it's a bit of a gap. But I'm going to try, now in gentler, slower, smaller ways to live a life that's truer to my self- no big dramatic changes, just chipping away very very slowly at the self-doubt and vanity (and everything else) that has become second nature. I actually feel hopeful. I hope you do too.

Love your family.

It was my brother's 17th birthday yesterday, and in our family it would not be appropriately celebrated if there was not a big family feast, replete with huge bowls of Greek and/or Italian food.




Aside from the mountains of food, we have another tradition on birthdays. It's the type that will probably make you cringe to hear about, but in reality is one of the loveliest things and something that I would love to continue. After we are filled with scrumptious food made by Yayi or Nonna, in that little window of time before the cake is brought out, while we are slothing in our chairs marvelling at the carrying capacities of our stomachs, we go around the table and each of us says something that we love about the birthday boy/girl.

What always strikes me about this little ritual is that I am immediately reminded of just how rarely we share with someone what we truly love about them. And how liberating and connecting it is to do so. So often our exchanges with our families and the people we love are limited to superficial, surface stuff. It takes effort and consideration to step out of that kind of automatic communication, as well as the suspension of that overbearing belief that it's not "cool" to be sentimental or openly, vocally appreciative of those around you.

I think things like this also serve as a beautiful reminder that we are all supported by each other.

I know that personally, I can sometimes feel as if I'm locked in a battle with my mind and my thoughts, that my fears and insecurities are constantly threatening to sabotage my ability to be a loving, kind, content person (and they do). And that can all be really exhausting (as well as hugely disappointing). But when I am surrounded by people who love me and who I love, and we already know all about each other's flaws and "humanness" but accept it as part of the whole, those fears seem to dissolve and I can then feel my own ability to give and care back.

There is a lot of talk about the loss of close community in Western societies and the detrimental effects it has. I believe there is a lot of truth in that. It's one of the many aspects of modern living that contributes to feelings of alienation, isolation and that underlying anxiousness that can be so pervasive in our lives. That's why being part of a family is so important.

And it doesn't have to be 'family' in the traditional sense of mum, dad, two kids and a dog. It's whoever supports you, whoever you can talk to beyond the superficial- be it your colleagues, your partner, your friends. The people that help keep you afloat.

Now that I've had my ramble, how do you feel connected? What little "traditions" do you have to help you take time to appreciate the people you love?

What a perfect description of a perfect song. From Everybody Cares.

Do You Realize? - The Flaming Lips

It’s such a gut-punch of a line, and I never, ever don’t think about exactly what it is saying every single time I hear it:

Do you realize that everyone you know, one day, will die?

No matter where I am when I hear it - in the car, doing chores, on my bed - it knocks me out. But it also centers me, providing an almost Buddhist sort of balance to things, an inevitability to the proceedings, whatever the proceedings may be. All things must pass.

And yet it’s wrapped up in such a beautiful package: Wayne Coyne and the rest of the Lips’ ecstatic, propulsive melodies - a sound not unlike what I’d imagine joy itself sounds like. Coyne delivers the line, then, in the only real way that allows you to accept it without becoming instanteously and overwhelmingly depressed: in the context of wonder. In the context of awe. It’s happiness battling sadness, life battling death, music - the sheer universal glory of it - battling this awful mortal coil.

In just a handful of minutes, “Do You Realize?” accomplishes two very diverse, yet overlapping objectives. It makes you think about your own mortality while simultaneously providing you with an aural reminder of just why life is so worth living. For songs like this.

Listen to Do you realize?
(all original images)

back.

We are home from a month's trip travelling around Tassie. We became efficient van inhabitants, living much more simply than we do at home and realising (in practice, not just in thought) that you don't need much at all. We saw some truly beautiful landscapes, read lots, met some awesome travellers, visited some very old (and tall) trees and overcame some of the little stresses that come with living in a confined space. I hope I can not only remember the things that I learnt and experienced but live them out.