Would you tell a man that he had only days to live?

A colleague of mine (let’s call him Bill) had been suffering Lymphoma cancer over the past few years. Bill had been living with disease for quite some time, surprisingly comfortable in the knowledge that the cancer was one day going to return because it’s apparently not curable.

However during these past 12 months the lymphoma returned with vengeance and he had been undergoing regular chemotherapy. He was a trooper I must say and I grew to respect and admire the man.  Apart from the bald head you would never guess that anything was seriously wrong and Bill continued to work in between lengthy hospital visits and the painful side effects caused from the chemotherapy.

He was due to go into hospital for one final treatment and it appeared he was in recovery. The treatment appeared to have been successful and he was excited about returning to work on a full-time basis. However we were sadly given the news that Bill had a brain tumour. I wondered about his poor wife. She has been a rock all this time and I knew they were very close. They adored each other and Bill and his wife had been happily married for over 20 years.

We were told it was very serious but we weren’t really sure what that meant. My manager had been in regular contact with his family and then one day I picked up the phone and it was Bill. He sounded great – a little weary and slow but very coherent. I was delighted and thought it would be a matter of weeks until Bill returned to work. Later we were informed that the tumour had indeed reduced in size and once again we thought Bill was on the road to recovery.

But as fate would have it, the brain tumour returned and I was informed that Bill only had a matter of days to live and that there was nothing else the doctors could do. He had lost sight in one eye and his hearing was all but gone. In such a short space of time Bill had gone from being a fairly healthy well-built man (he is an ex Judo champion) to nothing but skin and bone. It was just dreadful.

A few weeks had passed and Bill was still with us although at this stage, he was in palliative care. It had become known to us that his wife had not informed Bill that his brain tumour was terminal and she wasn’t going to. This led to an interesting conversation at work the other day. One colleague is quite astounded that his wife had not told Bill that his condition was terminal because he believed if he was Bill, he would like to know. I, however, believe she made the right decision. Having known Bill for three years, I truly believed that by telling him that there was nothing left to be done to treat him, he will give up all hope and shrivel up and die very quickly.

At the time, I also believed that telling Bill his condition was terminal and the doctors were no longer treating him that you were robbing Bill of any hope. The hope and the will to live. We often hear stories of people being on their deathbed or who’ve been told they only have days or weeks to live who make miraculous recoveries. I believe this is the Law of Attraction in its purest form and to be so brutally honest with Bill at this stage was potentially eliminating all belief and hope.

The sad news is that Bill did pass away a few weeks ago. Of course he must have known death was coming but he was never ‘officially’ told.

So what would you have done? Would you want to know that the doctors are no longer treating you because they believe that modern medicine could do no more? If you were Bill’s wife, would you have told him? Interested to hear your thoughts.

RIP Bill!

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Why you should never save anything for a rainy day. Tough lessons learned from a 91 year old

Life as we once knew it no longer exists. Ok, that’s a bit of an exaggeration but the dynamics have changed in my family. We now have to accept the fact that our last remaining grandparent has suddenly been fraught with old age – I mean it’s just come out of nowhere like a bat out of hell.

My 91 year old grandmother has succumbed to the fact that she can no longer live independently and has to accept the reality now that she must live in a nursing home – a reality that she fought so hard and for so long.

I know a bit about this ageing population phenomenon (or worldwide crisis I should say) that currently exists. I work in the retirement village industry in Australia and I have an understanding of the issues and concerns currently facing our senior citizens. I have been exposed to the ageing process and how some view nursing homes and even retirement villages as ‘god’s waiting room’. It couldn’t be further from the truth. But like most of us, they simply want to feel safe and secure and know that their family has their best interests at heart.

Of course while the ageing process started years ago in my grandmother, it has only been in the last six months that ‘old age’ has really kicked in. What I mean by that is up until now, she was very fit and capable for a 91 year old. Now she looks like an elderly woman – her physique has changed and she walks with a walking stick.

Eight months ago she was an independent, strong-willed and stubborn woman living in a two bedroom unit in regional Victoria, still buying her own groceries and crossing busy main streets in areas where trucks could wipe her clean. I swear this woman has lived more than nine lives.

She was a master craftswoman – a gifted embroider who used to make my sister and I dresses and my brother shirts and pants. The kind of craftsmanship that existed only in her generation.

Unfortunately today this kind of craftsmanship is dying a slow death and her skills and talent will only be a faint memory.

She has survived breast cancer twice, had that many falls we’ve lost count yet she has never broken a bone and has suffered various infections and viruses. She’s a battler and has refused to accept help when offered to her, which has caused more than a few grey hairs for my mother. A couple of years ago we could see she was starting to need some help around the house but only for someone to come around once a week to assist her with the housework. When they left, she went over what they had already done and soon enough she cancelled the service altogether, to the dismay of my parents left shaking their heads in disbelief.

After a couple of stays in hospital this year it became very apparent that she could not return to live on her own. She has lost a significant amount of weight and has become weak and frail. After waiting for a vacancy to appear in one of the local nursing homes, she finally moved in.  But there was no resistance or disagreements this time – she knew in her heart this was the right thing to do.

Why am I telling you this? My sister said something to me the other day that stopped me in my tracks. She said she is never going to ‘save’ anything for special occasions and rainy days anymore. Since my grandmother moved into a nursing home, her unit has been sold and her possessions have been sifted and disposed of in various ways – some to family members and the rest given to charity.

We have uncovered an extraordinary amount of household items only seen and found decades ago, antiques, doilies, old recipes and cookbooks to name a few.

But what has surprised us all is the amount of possessions that she never used and many that have never been opened or seen the light of day. Beautiful old fabrics and materials, tea sets and cutlery sets – most that have never been used because she was simply leaving it all for a rainy day.

But that ‘rainy day’ has not arrived and now she lives in a tiny room, half the size of her old bedroom. She will never use and experience her possessions and most of it quite sadly will never be used by her sons and grandchildren either.

The last thing I want to be perceived as is a self-serving preacher, slamming down your throats the meaning of life crap. That is not my intention and many of you are just fine to figure that out for yourselves.

However, it reminds me of those chain emails that get forwarded to us from time to time. The type that have been written by other 90 or 100 year old grandmothers and great grandmothers (and fathers) offering their life’s lessons to be passed down to future generations. You know the type of emails I’m talking about, they contain things such as:

1. Life isn’t fair, but it’s still good.

2. When in doubt, just take the next small step.

3. Life is too short to waste time hating anyone.

4. Your job won’t take care of you when you are sick. Your friends and parents will. Stay in touch.

5. You don’t have to win every argument. Agree to disagree.

6. Cry with someone. It’s more healing than crying alone.

7. Don’t compare your life to others. You have no idea what their journey is all about.

8. If a relationship has to be a secret, you shouldn’t be in it.

9. Take a deep breath. It calms the mind.

10. Get rid of anything that isn’t useful, beautiful or joyful.

11. Whatever doesn’t kill you really does make you stronger.

12. When it comes to going after what you love in life, don’t take no for an answer.

13. Be eccentric now. Don’t wait for old age to wear purple.

14. No one is in charge of your happiness but you.

15. Time heals almost everything. Give time time.

16. However good or bad a situation is, it will change.

17. Don’t take yourself so seriously. No one else does.

18. Envy is a waste of time. You already have all you need.

19. The best is yet to come…with a bow, but it’s still a gift.”

and so on……

I’m just a regular girl who is currently reflecting on her grandmother’s life, hoping that she has a few more years ahead of her and a desire to share some of the lessons I have recently learned.

But if you will allow me to spread a message, then it’s this. Don’t save the best to last, don’t save the ‘good’ stuff for a rainy day or wear and use it only on special occasions.

Use that damn fine china tea set now; wear that dress you bought for your sisters wedding not only on the wedding day itself but next weekend when you go out; don’t buy a cutlery set you will never use  – use it at every dinner party and better still use it every night you have dinner with your family.

Burn the candles, use the nice sheets, wear the fancy lingerie. Don’t save it for a special occasion. Today is special.

Life is like one revolving door insofar as it goes round and round and round and we should never stop learning life’s most important lessons.

What are some of life’s lessons you have learned yourself or from those close to you? 

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A meeting with the Medicine Man – my fate untold by the Eat, Pray, Love man. Part 2

Ketut Liyer is a name some of you maybe familiar with. Or not. If you are familiar with the Eat, Pray, Love phenomenon then you will be.

I did not intentionally seek Ketut when I arrived in Bali. In fact, I didn’t even know the name of this infamous ‘medicine man’ before I came to Bali. But this man changed Elizabeth Gilbert’s life in Eat, Pray, Love and now that I stumbled upon him, I wanted to see for myself what all the hype has been about.

Take two. My friend and I arrived in Ubud early Friday morning purposefully to avoid the overbearing crowds. We learnt that lesson early on. Ketut is now world famous thanks to Elizabeth Gilbert who famously wrote about him in her book – mostly disaffected westerners now travelling to Bali by the droves to meet this spiritual man but also plenty of Hindu and Balinese too.

Wendy is on the left, Ketut is in the centre, and yours truly on the right.

After waiting 30 minutes for the medicine man to finish a palm reading, my friend and I finally meet Ketut. It was like standing on centre stage – it was the very same setting that Julia Roberts graced in the film and there were more and more people dribbling into the compound to wait their turn.

To my right I notice about five or so copies of the book translated in a variety of foreign languages stacked high on a shelf. I also notice a large international air postage envelope sitting there too.

‘Is that from Elizabeth Gilbert?’ I wonder.

Ketut tells us to sit down. I learnt my lesson from the day before and made sure I wore more appropriate attire although I have to admit, as you will soon see and to Ketut’s delight, it wasn’t much better. We sit down cross-legged and Ketut asks us where we are from. After replying, he explains that he gets many visitors from Australia, which of course was no surprise to us.

Ketut directs his attention to my friend and travel companion Wendy. The spotlight was on her and I was happy to sit and watch. I do my best to absorb and take in my surroundings while at the same time, I grow more and more anxious with nervous but excited anticipation.

I’m staring at this man sitting directly in front of me. While Ketut was played by an actor in the film, he really is as toothless as described in the book. I think he had just one tooth projecting from the centre of his mouth and he has white whiskers protruding from his face.

He asks us whether we are familiar with the book Eat, Pray, Love and Elizabeth Gilbert to which we replied we were. Then he explains that he was written about in her book and that she has now met a lovely man. Ketut then says that his English is not so good but he has a letter he recently received from Elizabeth Gilbert that he asks Wendy to read out loud to him.

‘Oh my god, this can’t be happening,’ I think to myself. ‘How cool is this?’

I should have grabbed the flip camera right then from Wendy’s hand but I didn’t. Wendy was reading a short letter out loud to Ketut from Elizabeth Gilbert. Part of me was wishing it was me though as a tinge of jealously swept through me.

‘You bitch,’ I thought to myself. Don’t worry, I did tell her to her face afterwards.

I can see Gilbert’s beautiful hand writing as Wendy read the letter out loud. The letter was explaining how she heard that Ketut had not been well, she was sending her love and best wishes for a speedy recovery and that she was thinking of him. She also thanked him for showing and allowing her to open herself up to love again and for teaching her what love actually means.

‘My goodness, this was amazing,’ I thought. I couldn’t believe this was really happening. A mini sequel to Eat, Pray, Love was taking place right in front of my very eyes and my best friend was reading out her letter.

He then shows us the original manuscript of the book that Elizabeth Gilbert sent him just after it was first released. It was very old and worn with tattered edges but it looked like a prized possession.

This woman has appeared on Oprah for goodness sake –she was almost like royalty. This was a big deal ok?!

After Wendy’s reading, it was my turn for Ketut to tell me my fate. ‘Was there another letter from Elizabeth Gilbert,’ I wonder. ‘Anything I can read out loud?’

No such luck. After telling me I have ‘lips as swweeeetttt as hhoonneeyy’ and that we both  are ‘verrryy pretttyy ladddiiieeeessss,’ Ketut reads my palm.

Watch the Medicine Man in action for yourself.

I am relieved to know that I will get married and have two children. It’s even more relieving to know I will be rich and live to 101. There is much to look forward too.

As we were leaving, Ketut gave us a small green flower to put in our hair and insisted we take a photo with him and then asked us to send him a copy later on.

“See you later alligator,” he says on our way out, a line that has become Ketut’s trademark since the book was released.

Thank you Ketut for providing me with hope and the safe knowledge that everything will be just fine. I shall relax in this knowledge and allow the universe to bring forth these wonderful things. It has been a memorable experience.

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A holy man, a pipe and a meeting with royalty (and a couple of sore toes to boot)

Aahh Bali. I sure did underestimate it. I went their with the lowest of low expectations and I left falling in unconditional love with an island that is chaotic, unconventional and more than happy to embrace any foreign visitor to its warm and inviting shores. After being invited to a girlfriend’s Buddhist wedding, I agreed to go. And yes I really did experience my own version of Eat, Pray, Love…well, we’ll never know whether the last part would have turned into love but I probably now need to go to Montreal to find out whether it could. This part of the script is still  being worked on for what I am hoping will have a happy ending. TBC…

Back to Bali. After all, I am not Elizabeth Gilbert and nor do I want this to sound as though I am replicating her entire pilgrimage. You know when you are in Indonesia when you arrive at Denpasar airport. Arrivals at Denpasar airport are greeted with a billboard decorated with a skull and crossbones and with the slogan ‘Penalty For Drug Trafficking Is Death’. The death penalty warning sign is screaming at us tourists so I couldn’t help but wonder what the hell was going through the minds of the Bali 9 and Schapelle Corby when they attempted to smuggle drugs in and out of the country. While walking through the security gate while my bags were being scanned, I actually played out the scenarios in my head, wondering which security monitor captured the drugs and the moment history was unfolded. Before I knew it though, I was out in the steaming, tropical heat, desperately wanting to take off my tracksuit pants and sneakers after leaving a cold Melbourne morning.

But Bali is anything but frightening when one begins to explore and integrate into its wonderful and chaotic culture. The Balinese are some of, if not, the most friendliest and peaceful people I have ever encountered and their warmth and natural beauty will surely charm and warm any first-time visitor to its shores.

“How much to drive us to Ubud to find and meet spiritual people?” asked my friend and travel companion. Bartering is a way of life in Bali and this applies to drivers and taxis as it does to the local street vendor. My friend was intent on day two in Bali to have us experience our own spiritual journey. And that, to my surprise, is exactly what we encountered.

But the driver was confused.

“Please take us to meet a spiritual man,” I said.

I was not been clear. Still confused, our driver steps out of the van to seek clarification from a fellow driver.

“Yes ladies where do you want to go?” asked the other driver.

A stocky, Indonesian man, his English was good and I’m thinking he should be our driver instead.

We answer him and he replies with “aahhh Holy Man, you want to see a Holy Man.”

“YES, that’s it, a Holy Man,” we screamed excitedly.

He informs our driver in their lingo and we are in business.

“Holy man, holy man,” our driver repeats. Unbeknownst to us, we are about to encounter the very Holy Man or I should say Medicine Man that changed Elizabeth Gilbert’s life, a story that is now told in the book and film the world now knows as Eat Pray Love.

We arrived at Ketut Liyer’s residence and I notice immediately the familiar surroundings I saw in the film with the flowers and fauna hanging at the front entrance and the area where Ketut conducts his readings. To my right, I notice two Eat Pray Love posters pinned to a wall and by the amount of people waiting and standing around, it’s evident that the hype and hysteria has well and truly hit Bali long before our visit. People from all over the globe are intentionly seeking Ketut to provide hope and to enlighten them with answers to their own destiny and fate. While I had no plans prior to leaving for Bali to deliberately seek out the Medicine Man himself, now that we did, I wanted Ketut, the man who enlightened Elizabeth Gilbert only years earlier, to enlighten me.

Not to be despaired about the queue of people lining up to be told of their fate and future journeys, we asked our driver to find us another ‘Holy Man’ and we decided we would return to Ketut’s residence another day. And another Holy Man we found.

Later that afternoon, we found our Holy Man and what I was about to encounter has changed my life forever.

As my friend and I walked further into the compound, I noticed two men and a woman, all dressed in sarongs and robes, sitting down crossed legged.  ‘At least there are not over 20 people waiting,’ I thought to myself. But these were not people waiting to be told their fate or to be healed; they were students on a home stay to learn from this Holy Man and they were about to study us.

As soon as I sat down, I immediately regretted wearing the short denim skirt as I felt I was exposing a little too much for my and their liking in such a spiritual and peaceful environment. The Holy Man then appeared. He was a tall, skinny Balinese man, dressed in a short robe and wore thing, ragged thongs. He asked us where we were from and then introduced himself as Tjokorda Gde Rai. He then focused his attention directly at me and asked how he could help me.

Tjokorda Gde Rai

For reasons I can’t explain, I was unable to express any words and couldn’t articulate anything that would make sense.

What was wrong with me? I had a million questions to ask this man but at that moment in time, I could not think of a single one. I looked at my friend, secretly hoping Tjokorda would get her to go first, but he continued to look at me. This was my turn.

Tjokorda sat on a chair and asked me to come forward and sit in front of him. He asked me again what I wanted to know and again I sat there like a stunned mullet. He pulled me around to sit facing forward and in view of the other people sitting on the floor. I start to feel embarrassed and wished the floor would open up and swallow me down with it.

I sat on the floor in between his legs. He touched my head at various points, put his fingers in my ears and then placed his hands on various points over my back and chest.

He continued prodding me with his fingers and hands up and down my back, ears, forehead, head, cheeks, face. He pulled my head back. When he put his fingers in my ears and put pressure on my face, he asked me what side of my body am I feeling the most pain. He continued to do this all the way down my body declaring as he went that my organs were fine and I am in good health.

I guess that was a relief to know but I wasn’t too concerned about my health. I didn’t want to be told about the state of my health but instead I wanted to scream out any of the million and one other questions I had stored in my head. But I still couldn’t say a word and I continued to sit there in silence. ‘What is wrong with you girl?’ I curse to myself.

After answering Tjokorda that it was the left side of  my body that I felt the most pressure, he told  me to lie down on the floor. Now I really curse myself for wearing that skirt. My friend came over to me with a small rug that must have been given to her by one of the students and covered my legs. It appears I was not the only one concerned about exposing too much skin. He asked me again what I wanted to know and all I can muster out was “everything.”

This time he used some sort of wooden implement that looked like a pipe. He tapped the left side of my body all the way down to my foot. With the end of the implement he pressed it into various parts of my left foot, a bit like reflexology. My reaction indicated whether there was a problem with the corresponding body part. If there was, he attempted to heal it.

“Does this hurt?” he asked me.

Wincing from the pain I shouted, “owwww, yes that hurts.”

“Does this hurt?” he asked me again after pressing on another part of my foot.

“Yessss,” I hissed.

The pain was excruciating.

He then stops, turns to me and says in a low voice “…you have past hurts. You carry a lot of sadness here”, he said pointing to my belly. He also told me he could see the sadness in my face – I had to be reborn.

“You need to release the sadness to make room for new.”

I won’t go into the details of what he uncovered.

But he kept repeating to me that I need to open up now because I am too closed.

Then Tjokorda directs his attention to one of the students sitting on the floor and I noticed all three strangers have been watching me intently. I’m still lying down and one of the men on the floor gets up, smiles at me and Tjokorda says to him, “1, 5, 7.”

Now it was time for the healing process to begin. While I don’t know what the numbers meant, the man hovered over me and conducted a ritual. He folded and twisted his arms, his eyes were closed tightly, and his right leg spasmed. The tension on his face was unmissable and I looked at this man standing over me in an almost trance-like state.

Once he was finished, he sat back down and Tjokorda picked up his pipe-like instrument and again pressed and squeezed in between the two toes on my left foot where I indicated there was pain. The pain that existed before in my foot had now disappeared. He was pressing very hard and I honestly felt no more pain. I did not wince or whimper once.

I had just been healed by a Holy Man. No, I had just been healed by royalty!

What I did not know until now was that Tjokorda Gde Rai is world renowned healer and considered one of the most important healers on the island of Bali. He has been written about in numerous articles, medical journals, newspapers and books. His clients have included headline celebrities and internationally-renown authors and medical experts, to local Balinese from remote parts of the Island. He has trained many healers worldwide, and his teaching comes from traditional Balinese lontars (sacred texts) passed down from generation to generation. At age 77, he is the grandson of the last King of Ubud.

It was a bizarre experience. Afterwards I felt light, almost like I was walking on air. I felt numb and lost for words and again felt like I was in an almost trance-like state. Back in the van, I could not speak to anyone. It was like my body was in the present but my mind and soul were elsewhere.

An hour later, the tears were streaming down my face and I was sobbing like a baby. It was an emotional release and I can honestly tell you that my life has changed forever since that day.

The thing is I didn’t need to say a word to the healer because he just knew.

He knew what was up with me with absolute precision. It was amazing.

On the way out, after talking with my friend, Tjokorda said to me, gesturing with his hands to make his point, “you, you need to oooppeeennn uuuppp.”

At the risk of sounding dramatic, my healing with Tjokorda was life changing. No word of a lie. He touched and consequently healed a few things that were deeply personal to me.

Once I stopped crying I felt like a different person and I have been ever since.

Stay tuned for part two as I explain my meeting with Ketut Liyer – the man that changed Elizabeth Gilbert’s life in Eat, Pray, Love.

Have you had any experiences with a healer, holy man (or woman), or medicine man (or woman)? It would be great to  hear your encounters.

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How to become an Independent Lifestyle Entrepreneur (who wants to join me?)

Independent Lifestyle Entrepreneur: someone who builds a small, flex­ible (generally 1-person) business as a means of living a dream lifestyle in the present, without focusing on selling the business to become wealthy as the end goal.

Yes, these are terms flying around these days – literally.

To create a world of our own. Many of us are aspiring to do just that but I am not so sure if we really know why or more importantly how to go about it.

I have been at a crossroads these past couple of months. Working my day job but also on other projects consuming a lot of energy and time but feeling like I am not getting anywhere. How many of us have felt like that? No, I realise I am not Robinson Crusoe but I am confident you and I have some connection here.

Just this week I have finished reading two very important books – well one was a manifesto but the light bulb has been switched on in my head. A sense of relief came over me and the books have provided me with the inspiration to get out there and as the Nike ads say ‘just do it’. At present, I am a 9 to 5 employee who actually wants to break away from the grind of conventionalism into entrepreneurialism. I have decided I have had enough of the employee mentality and would like to become the female equivalent of Tim Ferriss, to live the life as a location independent “solopreneur” and work only 4 hours per week.

What is this Entrepreneurial Revolution people are talking about today, where millions of people are going into business for themselves? As Michael Gerber said in his fabulous book The E-myth, it’s nothing more than a flight from the world of chaos “out there” into a world of our own.

It’s a yearning for structure, for form, for control. It’s also for something more personal as well, connected with who we are as human beings. It’s a yearning for relationship with ourselves and the world in a way impossible to experience in a job.

Unfortunately the “dream” is rarely achieved. Most small businesses fail. Why? Because we bring our chaos with us.

We don’t change; we try to change “out there”. We try to change the world by starting a small business BUT we stay the same.

The lesson to learn from this is simple: we can’t change our lives by starting “out there”. All we produce in the process is more chaos.

We can only change our lives and create a world of our own if we first understand how such a world is constructed, how it works and the rules of the game. And that means we have to study the world and how we are in it.

His book is one of the two I mentioned above. For most of this year, I have wanted to start my own business but I have been unsure as to what business model I want to implement. I have been trying to figure that out, waiting for some inspiration or glimmer of hope as to what direction I will proceed. But thank goodness I read this book and I realise now that perhaps it was divine intervention that I hadn’t proceeded with my business, because I can tell you right now, I was heading down the wrong path.

While his book was written for people wanting to start their own business, I believe the principles he talked about can be applied to anyone simply wanting to change or improve their lives. What strikes me though is why some people want to change their lives. What is wrong with the way some people currently live their lives that they are so unhappy that they want to change it? I ask myself this too – why don’t I like being an employee anymore and what I am truly seeking in my life to want to change that?

How come I don’t feel entirely fulfilled or satisfied?

It just seems to be a never ending question. I mean I was asking these questions to myself 10 years ago when I first started travelling. After travelling for half the decade, I am still yearning for more. But for more of what I am really not sure.

I guess the question remains, will we ever be happy no matter what we choose?

What is it that humans are really searching for that will provide us with whatever it is that appears to be missing from our lives?

Is the setting of goals really all it’s cracked up to be or are we only setting ourselves up for more disappointment and failure?

Or are we becoming far too self-indulgent, selfish and greedy?

Actually I do know what I want. It’s all of this:

no bosses

no employees

no investors

no overhead

no fixed location

no office hours

no facetime

no busywork

no set salary

no “2 weeks of vacation” b.s.

no permission required

total freedom

Maybe, just maybe though, most of us are waking up to the fact that we can create a more meaningful existence for ourselves than what we currently lead (only if we believe that to be true) and that we are in fact worthy of pursuing more.

I recently watched Eat Pray Love and it spurred and stirred some of those inner desires that I thought were locked away. Those desires to just start travelling and do it all over again but do it so very differently this time. That little voice inside my head saying “Shae, life’s too short to work and buy a house – go out and explore the world further”. What was I thinking when I went to see it because there is a very good reason why I currently avoid watching any sort of travel program on TV? Now those niggles won’t go away – damn it!

At the end of it, the same questions I was asking myself 10 years ago remain. What am I looking for in my life or what is the purpose of my existence on this planet?

Deep I know but the heading of my blog must indicate to you that this is not the place to come to if you want to read about celebrity gossip or Lindsay Lohan’s drug charges. Admit it – most of you are constantly asking yourself the same or very similar questions. Am I right?

I am going to Bali next week and I hope to indulge in my own Eat, Pray, Love experiences. I will be going with an open mind and to seek some spiritual enlightenment just like Elizabeth Gilbert did.

It’s a big ask considering these are questions I have been asking for over 10 years but hopefully I will come back with some of the answers I have been searching for.

One can only hope!

Let’s have a conversation. What questions are you seeking to answer in your life or things that you hope to discover? Are we becoming too selfish and greedy for our own good?

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35 Minutes

The lines etch across her face. Pigmentation marks and old acne scars. A tiny lump of skin rests high above her cheekbone. Annoying, my eyes are drawn there and I cannot look away. It’s ugly but captivating. The Lord Jesus is present. The face crinkled and faint on the hand of an old lady. Is God on the other I wonder?

Old and weary, deep lines tell a million stories. Is that an old scar from a husband, a former lover, a fall down a staircase? She likes the drink. I can tell. A bird nests itself on the corner of each eye. Five lines bury into lips. She likes the cigarettes too.

The boy, drinking a can of coke at 8.45am. I see a bottle in the bag. Save for later. I think he must enjoy it warm. What will he have for lunch I wonder?  I bet there is no apple in that bag he carries. Bad parents.

A cigarette smoker sits behind me. Fresh from a smoke, the smell draws over me. I want to hurl. I look around at the jaundice fingernails. A smoker since 12, I guess.

I see a pile of fat, taking three seats. Eyes flitter, unsure of where to rest. Pretending not to hear the snores and notice the dribble down his mouth, people keep their distance. Has he ever been laid I wonder? Has his manhood ever been touched by a woman? I have visions. I stop.

The girl in the uniform. A purple bruise on her cheek. Is that from her mum or dad? A bully at school? A leg is shaking, she looks like she’s about to pee. Is she really going to? She gets off. No puddle on the floor.

Young lovers in the corner. Locking lips, marks on their neck. Is that love? They look 14.

A woman standing announces to her friend she is pregnant. I see a bump now. I would offer her a seat but I’m too lazy. I want to read my book.

A man seated next to me reading the newspaper. Words catch my eye. He turns the page. Damn it. I liked reading about the boy with “Werewolf” Syndrome.

Next stop. I get off.

Eight hours later.

I get on. A new journey commences…..

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Playing on instinct – the leap from mediocrity to exceptional

Many years ago I wanted to be a professional tennis player; the Aussie version of Martina Navratilova – tall, vein popping, muscle ripping arms; taut waist but minus the lesbian tendencies and fat thighs. I was once a serious tennis player. I had lessons from an early age, I was selected and played in the McDonalds tennis squad, I played local junior and senior competition tennis every Saturday and I once tried out for the Victorian Country Squad. My parents used to drive me all across the state to play in various tournaments; I used to practise every night after school, and I had coaching twice a week. When I had no one to practise with, I used to bring a bucket of balls down to the local tennis courts and just work on my serve. Good thing the tennis courts were just down the road from mum and dad’s.

I was once a dedicated student of the game. I used to watch every Grand Slam tournament and I remember staying up in the wee hours of the morning watching Pat Cash beat Ivan Lendl in the 1987 Wimbledon final. I was a member of Cash’s fan club for a number of years and, hell I used to even wear that ugly black and white checkered headband. I was obsessed with tennis and I wanted to be the next Australian Women’s Wimbledon Champion. God knows we needed another female tennis player on the international circuit that would actually win games. I was going to be that person. I was going to be the next big thing!

But then, from the age of 14, something happened. I became a regular girl who started taking an interest in boys and listening to lots of music. I became lazy and then I simply lost interest. The dream evaporated and before I knew it, I was just another average teenage girl with no exceptional talents or skills. I was conventional; I was regular – I became a sheep.

While I had dreams of becoming the next Navratilova, I never really believed I was going to be. While I was dedicated and practised the game regularly, I lacked confidence – a severe lack of confidence. Of course I did not realise this at the time. I was just a naïve 14 year old who barely knew the difference between a polecat and a ferret. It was this lack of belief that a simple girl from a country town called Traralgon would ever be a Wimbledon champion. Who was I kidding? Me, a tennis champion? That only happens to very special people and I did not think I was anything special – far from it!

So I let the dream slip away and went back to being your average teenage high school student. If I could talk to that little girl now I would tell her to do things very differently. I would tell her to possess one thing and one thing only. I would tell her to possess self-belief.

Self-belief is what separates the good from the great; the leader from the follower and the wannabe from the entrepreneur.  It is self-belief that determines what type of life each of us is presently living and the perceived success or lack of it that exists in our lives.

At aged 22, fashion designer Premal Patel; fed up with dealing with an overbearing boss; decided to start his own men’s fashion label – from the boot of his parents’ Volvo.

In those early days he’d jump into the rusted old car at 6:30am, not returning until late at night. Store by store, Patel, who had quit as an assistant at another fashion label, would collect business cards, and then approach the owners, imploring them to give him an opportunity to showcase his range.

His biggest challenge was one that rings true for many business owners: cash flow – or rather, a lack of it. Trying to come up with the money to fund future production while chasing outstanding monies to pay for past production created nightmares that were difficult to overcome.

Those tough beginnings paid off. His label, Premonition, has experienced growth in each of its eight years, even during the dreaded financial crisis that had many fashion designers doing more worrying than designing.

Today, Premonition can be found in over 100 Australian retail stores, and Patel has two concept stores of his own in Sydney, with one more opening soon in Melbourne (The Age).

Moral of the story: he never gave up!

Take Rory. He is in a band called THUNDERHAWKS (that is Rory on the far left). They are a Canadian band that is starting to make a name for themselves. Rory, a distant cousin of mine whom I met briefly six years ago, is in his second year at college. His mother and I correspond regularly via email and she explained to me that she was quite upset when; after a rough period of Rory starving, broke and almost homeless; quit a part-time job he just received, to go on tour with his band for one whole week because the employer wouldn’t grant him the time off.

Now many people, particularly those of an older generation, may shake their heads in disbelief at such flippant behaviour. Daryl Kerrigan may say his dreaming but at least Rory is taking action to make his dream a reality.

Some may view Rory as just some punk kid with an attitude displaying behaviour that appears to be typical of his age group – lazy, self-indulgent and doing anything to not work. I wholeheartedly disagree. When Rory’s mother emailed me the story, I smiled and I thought this kid knows what he wants.

Rory is playing on instinct and simply following his intuition. Most of all, he has passion for his music. Some would suggest that Rory should stick out the job because the chances of ‘getting discovered’ and making rock and roll history is slim. That may well be true and while I have no knowledge of the inner workings of the music industry, I suspect that Rory has great belief in himself and in his music that he knows that some day, perhaps very soon, he and his band mates will receive rock glory such as a Grammy Award nomination or inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.

Rory has a passion and ultimately it’s this passion that will drive him to succeed. Many people are too practical; too logical in their thought processes that I suspect anyone else would have succumbed to their employer’s demands. That is what struck me about Rory when his mother first told me about his situation– a kid that was starving, had no money and living in a basement with five other guys – was prepared to put up with further hardship with the hope and ambition that he will follow through with what he really wants to do with his life. That is, to be a professional musician and I say good on him!

Why else would he be prepared to put up with this hardship if he didn’t believe in what he was doing? Rory has a self-belief that is to be admired not discouraged.

Now his mother possessed the normal fear that any other mother would have in these circumstances. She explained to me that after a few head-bashing sessions with her son, she came to accept Rory’s decision because she knew how important music was to him, and in the end, breathed a sigh of relief. I told her to chill out and to let things unfold naturally, and to most of all have faith in her son’s decision. The worse thing that can happen is for the son to take on his mother’s negative energy.

Self-belief is following your intuition. Self-belief is why the likes of Tom Cruise, Donald Trump, Richard Branson, Barack Obama and Bob Dylan receive the highest accolades in their respective professions.

Australians will recall Jessica Watson, the 16 year old who, this year, became the youngest person ever to sail solo around the world unassisted. The Australian Prime Minister said at her reception that she was a true hero but what was significant for me was her response. She said that she did not see herself as a hero but an ordinary teenager with a dream and the belief to make it come true.

If people start telling the story they want to create as opposed to telling the story of what is, then I guarantee they would manifest and create the life they truly want to live. None of us have to put up with mediocrity in our lives. The reason some people do is because of the thoughts they think and the lack of belief they have in themselves to have the power to change it.

Every single person on this planet is personally responsibly for the way their lives develop and the circumstances that unfold.

The good news is we can all escape mediocrity if we are willing to remodel our thinking. We can all live an above average life.

There’s no greater feeling than feeling inspired. I love nothing better than hearing a story of how one started out with absolutely nothing to conquering and achieving the impossible.

Phil Collins knows exactly what I am on about here when he sang Against All Odds.

Perhaps you have achieved something in your life you never thought possible. Do you know of a story or person who faced impossible odds to achieve the success they desired? I would love for you to share your stories or experiences.

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Julia Gillard’s done a ‘Steven Bradbury’

I saw that headline today and laughed. I didn’t laugh at this though:

…”What do Australia and McDonalds have in common?….They are both run by a red headed clown.”

Lame I know. And I also I know I am venturing into dangerous territory here writing about Australian politics especially when I confess that I do not have intimate knowledge of the inner workings of political parties.  However the unelected appointment of Welsh-born Julia Gillard as the first ever Australian female Prime Minister has left a sour taste in my mouth and I’m not laughing.

Prime Minister Julia Gillard

This isn’t about starting a political debate or firing pot shots at anyone for holding certain political beliefs. A wonderful attribute of this great country like many great countries such as the UK and Canada is our democratic right to vote, believe and express whatever we choose. Except we, the Australian public have not been given the right to vote in this new Prime Minister. Whether we liked it or not, Kevin Rudd was voted in as Australia’s Prime Minister at the last election and this past week’s events has simply proven that not even the Australian public’s vote has any say, power or control over who decides to govern this country. In my humble opinion, this has been a blatant disrespect and attack on Australian voter’s rights and I’m not sure why then voting is compulsory in this country.

I was never a fan of Kevin Rudd or the Australian Labour Party for that matter but the way the former Australian PM was treated has been nothing short of despicable. While watching his farewell speech, to my utter amazement I actually found myself feeling sorry for this smarmy, smug, little man who’s bruised and battered ego has been magnified across the globe.

Yes it is wonderful for the women’s movement to finally see an Australian female politician rise to the top job. God knows the executive board rooms of many Australian organisations are still occupied by an overwhelming majority of men and hell we are still getting paid less than them. But what sort of example does this set when our new leader cannot be trusted? My trust in Julia Gillard has fallen to new lows after the way she rose to the top job. For our first female PM, I would like to have seen a more honourable and dignified way to receive the right to govern our country.

Julia Gillard has proven she is ruthlessly ambitious and untrustworthy and even more so the power and hold the big unions have on this country has never been more evident. When the dust settles, the significance of yesterday’s events will be even more shocking. Rudd was a toxic bore, but he was denied the opportunity to complete even his first term as Prime Minister. Stabbed in the back by his trusted deputy, and tossed out by his own party, who are driven by poll anxiety and nothing else. The Australian people were denied an opportunity to judge this Government after a term. These were momentous events that say an awful lot about the Australian Labour Party. At least Gillard got one thing right. She has not been elected to office by the Australian people and therefore she should call an election immediately.

Yes it was swift and bloodless and it didn’t draw out to a long conclusion. Kevin Rudd had the carpet swept from underneath him so quickly, he is just feeling the sting of the fall now. Whether you voted for Rudd or not this is tantamount to a coup. The people who voted for Rudd DID NOT vote for a change of leader. They did not vote for Gillard. They did not ask Arbib and the other factional powerbrokers to dethrone the PM.

What a way for Australia to have its first female PM. I would have been very happy to have VOTED in a female PM.

DO YOU CARE? HAVE YOUR SAY!!

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It’s all about teamwork… or is it?

Recently I completed the OXFAM Trailwalker and it was a damn tough feat. I have never completed an endurance event of this kind before and let me tell you it seemed easy however it was anything but. I started at 7am on Friday morning and I did not stop until 3pm the next day. At the finish, my feet looked like they had been cooked on coals and my head was somewhere between Warburton and Timbuktu. But the end result was good. No the end result was great. No it was better than that. The end result was that I had just walked 100km in 31 hours!

Now some of you might be asking why the hell I would even contemplate such an arduous challenge to begin with. To be honest I don’t really know but I do know that it was definitely my first and last time. At the time of enrolment it seemed like a good idea, a physical challenge but it was a challenge I significantly underestimated. It was all starting to come to a head at 3am Saturday morning however a phone call from England really spurred me on and provided some much needed motivation. Thank you Fran!

It wasn’t so much physically draining as it was mentally draining. Once the fatigue kicked in I knew then it wasn’t going to get easier. I was in for a tough ride. We stopped at checkpoints along the way to recuperate, have a massage and have our feet checked. But as the day and night wore on it was difficult to sustain our energy levels and the longer I rested the harder it was on my body to keep going. My muscles were seizing up and my feet were just burning.

But it wasn’t the physical pain that bothered me. It was the lack of teamwork. We were not a team and unbeknownst to many we did not finish as a team. One team-mate had to pull out at the 32 kilometre mark, the other pulled out at 72 kilometres and I very nearly followed his lead. For one brief second I honestly thought I could not go on and was almost going to announce calling it a day but the voice inside my head said otherwise. It was pure mental torture but the voice was telling me that I wasn’t coming back next year to attempt it again. I was stronger than that. This was it! This was most definitely my first and last time. I went on and the rest is history.

Two months on I reflect back on this achievement. Yes I am proud of myself but the lack of team work still bothers me or I should say lack of leadership. It was our team captain’s (let’s call her The Captain) third attempt to finish 100 kilometres after forces beyond her control in previous years prevented her from completing the event. I should have picked up the warning signals early on. She was much fitter than the rest of us because she had more time to train and as soon as we set out that Friday morning she took off like Godzilla. When we arrived at checkpoint one she was already waiting for us and she shoved a banana in our hand and shuffled us on to commence the next leg without a rest. It was a condition that teams had to check out together.

Fast track to Saturday afternoon at 1pm and it was hot – 31 degrees. I arrived at checkpoint six on my own after a 20 kilometre leg. I was in pain and absolutely spent.  After phoning The Captain to tell her I had arrived she comes over to me and tells me she is checking out with another team. I am too slow for her and I am prolonging her pain, she tells me. I could not believe what I was hearing and I had never felt so alone like I did right then. She was abandoning me! There was only seven kilometres left of the journey and she does this to me now. After resting, eating and licking my wounds, I found another team to check out with. All four of them were still intact - still together and I notice immediately the rapport between them. I walked with this team most of the way but towards the end I said I wanted to finish it on my own because I didn’t feel comfortable finishing with the team. That was the truth - I was alone because I had no team and I didn’t want to take away any glory from the other team. I walked through the finish line at 3.00pm and although I smiled for the camera, there was an undercurrent of bitter disappointment and sadness already brewing. 

Overall, I was disappointed with the efforts of our “team” to work together as one. I have no regrets about doing this but one can never underestimate the value of teamwork. I learnt a good lesson.

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An inconvenient truth!

Is it an inconvenient truth? Is happily ever after really happily ever after anymore? Has the words ‘until death do us part’ just become a standard line said without any conviction or substance? Do couples really mean it when it is their turn to proclaim their vows? I’m not so sure anymore. After hearing the news that Al Gore and his wife Tipper have separated after 40 years of marriage I think it is about time I stop kidding myself and finally admit that fairy tales don’t really exist and to come out from under my rock.

It’s already on Wikipedia: Al and Tipper Gore are separating after 40 years of marriage.

At first I was like ‘nooooooooo’ and ‘what’s the point?’ I mean Al Gore is 62, Tipper is 61 and after spending over half their lives with each other, I  thought why bother?  Here’s a couple who met in high school, married young—she was 21, he 22. They have four children and three grandchildren. And 40 years! What happened? You can’t help but leap to “Affair!” “A dirty awful secret!” But by all accounts so far, the reason may be far less exciting: The inconvenient truth, it seems, is that they simply grew apart—a side effect of his traveling for climate change, spending less and less time together.

I am a tragic romantic. And probably a very naive one at that. I hate hearing news of couples breaking up. Especially celebrity couples. I was saddened to learn that Susan Sarandon and Tim Robbins had parted ways after 23 years and even more shocked to learn, after reading Patrick Swayze’s autobiography, that he and his wife had separated for a year. They did get back together but not long before he found he had pancreatic cancer. But to hear supposedly fairytale marriages suddenly end without any rhyme or reason, I can’t fathom it. Marriage is meant to be forever; couples know this when they make that decision to walk down the aisle, exchange rings and say ‘I do’. Damn it, they are meant to put in the hard yards and make an effort? That’s what they signed up for right? So where does it all go wrong?

Here’s a theory. According to psychotherapist, Tina Tessina, PhD, author of Money, Sex and Kids: Stop Fighting about the Three Things That Can Ruin Your Marriage, growing apart is a top reason for the dissolution of long-term marriages.  “Couples who have been married for decades often start to take the relationship for granted, and focus elsewhere—on career or children, for example—and either neglect the relationship, or build up resentment over time because they don’t do the work to clear it out,” she says. “It’s also possible that couples who don’t stay in intimate contact can grow apart without realizing it, and then find they’re focused on completely different things.”

Statistics have been gathered that among women who marry between ages 20 and 24, as Tipper did, after 10 years, 29 percent are divorced. And after 20 years, the number rises to 41 percent. And don’t assume it was Al who initiated the parting. Two thirds of divorces are filed by women, according to a paper in the American Law and Economics Review.

When you consider that 150 years ago or so, people’s life-spans were only 40 years, I wonder, is it natural for couples to be together for such long periods of time? My romantic, whimsical ideologies wants to dismiss this thought but now I can’t help but wonder.

Another particular celebrity was asked recently what the secret is to sustaining her 24 year marriage. She said “the key is distance. I can’t have somebody breathing down my neck 24 hours a day. We have our own interests. We have our own things going on, and we come together and we have a great time. Its not conventional I know, but I’ve never been conventional.”

Perhaps my ideals are too conventional for my own good!

Care to share your views?

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