Friday, 30 September 2011

Fighting this idea of perfect: but what is "perfect" anyway?

I always seem to return to this one thought. No matter which merry-go-round I end up on, no matter the digressions, diversions, distractions or tangents, it usually comes back to this one same thought: 'how do I do this the right way, the perfect way...?'. Or, 'how can I be perfect at this?'

It's infuriating! I'm not perfect. I was never perfect. I hate perfect. I don't even want to be perfect!!! So why is this my default thought setting?!

Lately, I've been falling completely head-over-heels in love with my life all over again. With it's messy twists and turns, and complicated kinks. I start jobs, I quit jobs. I move and then remove. I start and don't finish things. I love and laugh and cry and sing. I talk to myself in the shower! I love my wardrobe but I don't really bother with make up. I beg my boyfriend to squeeze the zits on my back but I am such a sook when it comes to just about everything else. I still rent at 29 and I don't own any shares (or a car). I'm made good decisions and bad decisions. But I wouldn't trade any of it. I love all of it. It's part of the magic that is me, et cetera et cetera.

So why, I am asking myself (almost completely exhausted by this thought that repeatedly returns, unsated), oh why are you constantly berating yourself for being something less than perfect? For goodness sake, girl, accept yourself!!

Thursday, 22 September 2011

The relationship between us and a space

I’m fascinated with how being present in particular spaces can affect so much about our lives and how we feel emotionally.

The effect of choosing a particular space in which to reside or work, for example, can cause us a range of varying states of emotions: excitement, fear (or in extreme examples anxiety), feeling secure or exposed, happiness and delight or uncomfortable misery, financial hardship or sometimes even financial prosperity, health or discomfort, connected or isolated, well, you get the idea.

How is it that the physical properties (the shape, atmosphere, location, etc) of different spaces can have such an affect on us? Does the space even affect us, or is it merely our perception of the space?

The range of factors which I know personally affect how I feel within and about particular places, include: light, artificial vs natural; size, spacious vs cramped vs overwhelming enormity; context, living vs working vs visiting; and colours light vs dark.

I recently moved into a new house and it is just beautiful. It has such a friendly and wise feel (if it possible for a house to be wise), sort of like a favourite grandfather. It chuckles. I feel very happy there, and in the surrounding areas too. The little courtyard is lovely. The street is lovely. The graffiti is lovely. Even the air seems lovely, somehow.

I contrast this with an apartment I lived in only briefly. There, the building literally groaned it was so worn out an old. It looked nice, but it felt very isolating there, and almost cold. It was very dusty and musty and I hated it so much I only stayed 7 days (I am almost embarressed to admit).

So what was it about the horrible space that made me feel so awful? And what is it about this place that makes me feel so happy?

I’m not certain it’s energy left behind by previous occupiers. One of the houses I enjoyed living in most was occupied by lovers of satanic ritual right before I lived there. They marked the doors with satanic symbols and all the neighbours hated them. I loved that place though, completely oblivious to the symbols until someone pointed them out to me. There was something about how the sunlight came though the windows and shone on the wooden floor that had cracks between the boards so large you could see through to the soil beneath. It was just so friendly and lovely. Like a warm hug.

Despite not really understanding the logistics of it all, I'm glad that the new place makes me feel warm and fuzzy. This is my new bedroom. It feels so inviting...and safe. There is something awfully lovely about waking up in the morning and looking out of that window at the greenery and bricks outside. It's beautiful and wonderful.

Thursday, 8 September 2011

Farewell dear apartment

I hadn't cried this much (or at all for that matter) about moving out of a house since I left home - and I left home to move to North Queensland! - until last night that is. I had to have a really big cry, as though I'm having to say farewell to a dear friend.

This apartment I've been living in, well, frankly it's seen me through everything. Tears, laughter, love, anger, paralysing anxiety, hopelessness, fear, relief, hopefulness, excitement and pure joy...a huge and important chunk of my life has happened while I've been living there. It housed my path of self discovery. And it's been there, steady and unmoving, without complaint the entire time: patient, comforting, safe, warm and so friendly.

Despite everything - the smallness of it (it is pretty tiny), the black soot on the balcony from the road out front, the coal heater that only has 2 settings (scalding...and cold) and the fact that the coal is not in the heater but in fact in the cupboard, the stupid lifts (that bing when the lift leaves instead of when it arrives), and even the funny euro-laundry doors that wouldn't let me open my wash machine soap holder more than half a centimetre - some of the happiest times of my life were spent living there.

It is time for me to move on. It is time for me to buy and arrange furniture, wash dishes again, have people over for dinner, spread out a bit, and be at ground level, with a little garden. I want room for my creativity to blossom.

But apartment 2.8 (aka 208, we're still not sure which is the right reference to use), you've been just wonderful and I've loved every minute.

Thank you. And farewell.