100 Day Project - Day Twenty Four

Sometimes, the more going on inside both my head and heart, the quieter & more composed I become on the outside.

Suppression? Sublimation? Yes, and yes. Inside there’s a volcano at play. Outside, I appear as a vault.

Balanced? No.

I have thoughts on the subject of balance. Lots of thoughts. Whirling thoughts. But for now… I’m gathering them. Quietly.

100 Day Project - Day Sixteen

Day Sixteen: I was not on a beach today. Or this week. This photo was taken by my mother just over a year ago but it feels so relevant today, on so many levels.

I’ve just spent a week participating in some deep developmental work with an amazing group of people in the middle of Oxfordshire. The focus of the work was primarily Use of Self as a way of supporting others to do their own work, at all levels of a system; individually, in groups, and at the whole-system level. It was incredibly enriching, challenging and validating all at the same time.

I have much to consider after the experience and I’ll be mulling and processing for a while yet but this photograph jumped out at me today because it’s a visual reminder of a few things that I don’t want to lose touch with after the week. None of these is surprising but I find I forget them or they fade into the background of my awareness:

One: The importance of showing up as myself (all of myself) and feeling accepted.

I’ve worn this colour-combo in my hair for exactly five years now. It was April 2013 when I first took the plunge and dyed this piece of my hair green, after hankering to do it for a while. I’d tried purple first and I quite like that but when I started doing the turquoise it’s as if, at long last, my head outside matched my head inside. My work is arguably quite creative but I also work in very conservative environments sometimes and although I don’t think of this as particularly weird, especially five years ago when rainbow-coloured hair was less commonplace, it definitely raised some eyebrows and drew some comments.

These days I hardly remember it’s there – it feels so much a part of me – but however small, it's undeniably a vital statement about who I am. Normally, I don’t really mind whether people like it or not, although it always makes me smile when others do seem to get a kick out of it. Some days it’s hardly even noticeable and I can tuck it out of sight all together if I’m going somewhere where I fear the PWI (Perceived Weirdness Index) will be too much for my clients. Although that rarely happens anymore. Ultimately, I do it for me.

One of the things that struck me this week, was how several people in the group mentioned this teal streak in my hair with appreciation, and how much I loved that they did. Somehow, it mattered to me that in this context the smallest of quirks felt accepted and was even enjoyed by others.

Two: Feeling at home in my space and my skin at the same time is still rare but so deeply satisfying when it happens.

Another thing this image triggered for me, is the fact that when it was taken, I was feeling truly at home in my space and my skin all at once. It’s a rare occurrence for me and I experienced that this week. With a bunch of strangers! That truly is a rare occurrence. I know I’ve met kindreds when that happens in the space of a couple of days and I can probably count on one hand the times in recent years when it has. This year I’ve already had a couple of those experiences. The trend is one I’m liking.

My recent trip to Costa Rica achieved that and the time I spend with the family of my heart always does that for me. But, pretty much most of the rest of the time, I feel a bit uncomfortable in both my space and my skin. When I do manage it the sunshine contributes, the setting contributes, the company contributes but mostly it has less to do with all of that, than what I feel about myself. Food for thought. What are the deeper, invisible things I need, to be able to inhabit myself so completely and comfortably? I have some hunches but I’ll have to get back with that.

Three: The power of my senses and sensations to connect me with my deepest emotions, and that I miss human touch.

The final thing, for now, is that when I look at this picture, I remember the physical sensations of the moment so vividly: the heat on my skin, the breeze, the sand underfoot, the sound and smell of the sea, and the tang of salt in my mouth. Not to mention the profound beauty of what I was seeing. I was stirred to tears by it all then and even now, as I recall it, I’m quite emotional. I was reminded this week of how being so absolutely and completely in the here and now can really connect me to my emotions in a way that I sometimes avoid and deflect and, even worse, don’t notice at all. This week… no chance of that. It was a week of sensory immersion and one of the things I experienced more than anything in a way that I almost never do, is the power of touch. Human touch. I realized that sometimes I can go months without it - not even a handshake. Hugs are rare. I’m generally not a hugger. Especially not with people who I'd consider strangers or barely acquaintances and that’s 99.9999999999999999 (recurring) % of the world . Even with some who I consider friends, I'm awkward when it comes to hugging. Most often I find hugs bestowed discomforting.

This week, hugs were unavoidable. It was a huggy group. And, actually, after the initial discombobulation they wrought, I enjoyed them. There is something about a well-timed and warmly shared hug that can be almost transformative. Perhaps I need to review my stance on hugs!

100 Day Project - Day Fourteen

The Story of My Day in Four Acts:

Act One: “I find I am constantly being encouraged to pluck out some one aspect of myself and present this as the meaningful whole, eclipsing or denying the other parts of self.” - Audre Lorde
~
Act Two: “Longing is not conscious wanting; it's an involuntary yearning for wholeness, for understanding, for meaning, for the opportunity to regain or even simply touch what we've lost.” - Brené Brown, Rising Strong
~
Act Three: “To be great, be whole;
Exclude nothing, exaggerate nothing that is not you.
Be whole in everything. Put all you are
Into the smallest thing you do.
So, in each lake, the moon shines with splendor
Because it blooms up above.” - Fernando Pessoa
~
Act Four: “In a flash of wonderment she saw firm, continuous ground under her feet, stretching from back then to right now and on and on as far as her eyes could take her.” - Ann Brashares, The Second Summer of the Sisterhood

100 Day Project - Day One

So many metaphors for a life: a journey, a tapestry, a garden, a roller-coaster ride, a painting, a jigsaw puzzle, or even (if you are Forrest Gump) a box of chocolates, to name but a few I can relate to. For me, most of the best offer something that’s consciously created and actively embarked upon; something that’s emergent, something that evolves, and something that holds at least a few surprises.

I’ve always found that spirals, journeys, mosaics, and collages work well for me.

Since my teens I’ve embraced spirals as a metaphor for time. Time that embodies the past, present and future all at once, multi-dimensional, and can be explored in several directions through mindful presence, dreaming and reflection. Time that allows us to experience the echo of a thing; an experience, a lesson, a person. An echo. Repetition, not the original but sometimes so loudly heard or keenly experienced that it can even feel like we are moving through the same terrain, although we never are. We never truly travel through the same place twice – either because we’re viewing it from a fractionally different perspective in time, or we are different since we were last there, or both. And spirals, because in my own experience there’s nothing perfectly linear about anything long-term we do that's worth doing, especially life – even if it has a clear beginning and end.

Spirals of course are also a version of pervasive organic fractals – an expanding and evolving symmetry. Beautiful!

Journeys, although sometimes they can feel like a cliché, are the ultimate metaphor for someone who is at an archetypal level, first & foremost, an explorer. I am.

Mosaics and collages? I find it appealing that something ultimately meaningful can emerge from pieces of broken, torn and sometimes even discarded bits. Sometimes the appeal lies in the similarities, sometimes in juxtapositions, sometimes in the pieces themselves, sometimes in the spaces between. They can contain contradictions, create cohesion, be simple or complex but there’s no doubt they were made, piece by piece. They emerge, they evolve and while there’s interest and texture in the close-up view – where one has to work to create them – it’s only really when we step back that their full beauty and significance can be seen. For me, it’s a profound creative process.

And all of this? Why the musing? It’s the impulse and inspiration behind my 100DayProject. As sustained creative endeavours go, for me, it’s a long one. So, I’m approaching it like life – as a journey, a mosaic, a collage. Sometimes I’ll be collecting materials, sometimes I’ll have my nose pressed up to the surface as I place the pieces, sometimes I’ll step back and have a look at the whole. Always, I’ll be dancing around that spiral.

2018's word

dare:

: to be sufficiently courageous
: to challenge to perform an action especially as a proof of courage
: to confront boldly; defy
: to have the courage to contend against or for, venture, or try

I have to be honest, 2017's word did not play out as hoped, although who knows how much lighter it was than it might have been without it? I have high hopes for this one though. It feels like the right intention, the right guide, the right time.

With courage, you will dare to take risks,

have the strength to be compassionate,

and the wisdom to be humble.

Courage is the foundation of integrity.

Keshavan Nair

My life has been long, and believing that life loves the liver of it, I have dared to try many things, sometimes trembling, but daring, still.
Maya Angelou, Letter to My Daughter

Dare to Explore. Dare to Dream. Dare to Discover. Dare to break the rules. Dear to Leave. Dare to Begin. Dare to Live. Dear to Love. Dare to be You.
Oksana Rus

2017. Word.

Light lʌɪt/
noun

• the natural agent that stimulates sight and makes things visible
• a source of illumination
• an expression in someone's eyes indicating a particular emotion or mood
• understanding of a problem or mystery; enlightenment
• an area of something that is brighter or paler than its surroundings
• a device used to produce a flame or spark
• a window or opening to let light in
• a person eminent in a particular sphere of activity
• (in a crossword puzzle) a blank space to be filled by a letter

verb

• illuminate; provide with light or lighting
• ignite; make (something) start burning
• come upon or discover by chance

adjective

• of little weight; not heavy
• relatively low in density, amount, or intensity
• gentle or delicate
• requiring little mental effort; not profound or serious
• not solemn or unhappy; cheerful
• easily borne or done

I'll be seeking you in all your forms.

Signs and signifiers

March 2016

Grace chooses me

Un-winged and naked, sorrow surrenders its crown to a throne called grace.

Aberjhani, The River of Winged Dreams

Along with many others, one of the things I love about this time of year is reflecting on the year soon past and choosing a word to guide me in the year to come. It's one of those simple but profound rituals that I now relish. The word has power. It shapes and anchors and holds space for me throughout the year.

I normally spend quite a lot of time pondering the choice and allowing 'the one' float to the surface of a shortlist. This time it happened quite differently. The word chose me, swiftly and without much contemplation. Grace.

A lovely colleague of mine made this star and gifted it to me last week for Christmas. She said she'd chosen a word to engrave for each member of our team by thinking of us in turn and drawing a card from a pack she has. Each was bizarrely apt, ranging from resilience through courage and patience... none of which would have been just right for me. When she gave me mine though, that was it, word chosen. Or rather, it felt like it had chosen me.

For me grace embodies a combination of joy-filled ease, everyday finesse and conscious gratitude that I feel I need to be making space for in my life again, more deliberately. This feels like the word I need to help me encourage and embrace those things in this year ahead.

I also like the element of surrender suggested in the words she included with the gift. I'm happy to 'give up the struggle and allow the universe to participate in the creation of [my] life'. 2015 had many brights spots and was also a year of struggle. I'm ready for a year guided by grace. Thank you.

♡

Just reminding myself...

...that I'm still standing.

Dandelion wishes

Wish on everything. Pink cars are good, especially old ones. And stars of course, first stars and shooting stars. Planes will do if they are the first light in the sky and look like stars. Wish in tunnels, holding your breath and lifting your feet off the ground. Birthday candles. Baby teeth.

Francesca Lia Block

Hope can be a powerful force. Maybe there's no actual magic in it, but when you know what you hope for most and hold it like a light within you, you can make things happen, almost like magic.

Laini Taylor, Daughter of Smoke and Bone

I don't subscribe to the "wish and sit back waiting for stuff to happen" approach to life but, really, is there any harm in dreaming and hoping and throwing a wish or two into the universe? I don't think so. I love wishes. I love the delicious hope that making a wish captures. The acknowledgement and articulation of the thing desired. Thinking it, writing it, whispering it or shouting it aloud when up to that point it might only have existed as an unshaped smudge in one's head. And I love the things we wish on; the little prompts and rituals that are associated with making wishes.

We have a whole collection of these wish prompts in our family. I have yet to encounter a djinni in a lamp but, in addition to the things quoted by Francesca above, other opportunities for wishing include: trains on a railway bridge as we pass under it, eyelashes, ladybugs, wishbones, coins in fountains or wishing wells, rainbows, catching sight of a clock at 11:11 (a colleague told me about that one only a few years ago), standing in sunshine when it's raining (also known as a "monkey wedding" in Africa), fairy rings in the garden and, of course, dandelion puffballs. I can never resist a dandelion. I mean, it not only grants wishes but creates baby fairies too. What's not to love about that?

Vision...

I was playing around with a vision board this week. It's not quite finished yet but I'm liking what and how it's emerging. It's not that profound or even very surprising. Certainly not a work of art. It's just a device. Not even a very original one, I know, but it helps me to tune out some of the noise that clutters my thinking and to focus, for just a moment, on choosing the direction of flow. I find that helpful.

This is one I created about twelve years ago as part of a quick workshop exercise... 

It took all of about 20 minutes to do and I remember so clearly what each element meant to me, beyond the obvious representations. When I look at it now, it feels like all of it's become a reality. Some of it manifested in ways I would not have imagined, or even have chosen, but I cannot claim I didn't get what I asked for.

Love and Missing

When I was young I didn't understand, but now, I know, how absence can be present, like a damaged nerve, like a dark bird.

Audrey Niffenegger, The Time Traveler's Wife

As in art, so in life

Or is it the other way 'round?

I was looking over some recent photographs - almost all taken on my phone, which seems to be my most used lens these days - and I notice that that there's not been a lot of colour showing up for a while. Or maybe, more accurately, I've just not been seeing it 'cause I am sure it's still out there.

There is quite a bit of shape, pattern and texture though so I guess that's okay.

I think I might actively search out some colour in the next few weeks... I do miss it!

In the middle...

Change is hardest at the beginning, messiest in the middle and best at the end.

Robin S. Sharma

Easing in...

Normally I give quite a lot of thought to my word for the next year in the months leading up to the end of a year. November, coinciding as it does with the drawing in of the season here in the Northern hemisphere and my Birthday, is usually a time of reflection and introspection and I make a point of thinking about what I'd like in the year to come and how to express that in just one word.

Last year it didn't enter my mind. 2013 was a busy year. A very busy year. I was so wrapped up in busy-ness that the final quarter of 2013 passed in a blur. Lots and lots of doing, not very much reflecting or introspecting, and hardly anything that didn't have the label "work" or "chore" attached. I produced journals galore, filled to bursting with notes - all work related. Travelled far and wide, for work - my one planned social trip for the end of the year, thwarted by a last minute travel snag. Even my photographs were almost exclusively taken at work, of work, for clients. Frankly, boring. It's true what they say about Jack. I was Jack.

I popped out of the end of this and spun into Christmas and the end of the year and then the start of the new year completely unprepared on all, including the word, fronts. I moved around, I saw people, I came home, I fell ill... the days blurred. I emerged, blinking and it is a week into January. I feel like I am playing catch up.

Just before we stopped for the holidays though, a group of colleagues and I spent an hour of our final meeting together each creating a vision-board collage for the year to come. We did it in the time-honoured way... by framing it mentally and then very quickly flicking through a pile of magazines and pulling out images and words, trying not to over-think or consciously choose but to let them choose us, before arranging and gluing them on a poster-board and sharing our initial thoughts on what they represented with each other. I can be a bit of skeptic about some of these "profound" activities being crammed into business meeting agendas but I've found this rapid-fire graphic visioning practice quite useful in the past and was again struck by how powerful a visual technique can be for revealing what words sometimes just don't make as clear on their own. What emerged for me is in the top picture. I was very interested in how they turned out across the group (different motivations and aspirations reflected very clearly in each person's board) and afterwards thought how apt it was that the only picture I'd taken of mine was taken against (and in contrast to) a grotty hotel carpet.

When I finally started to think about my word for 2014 last week, there were several that floated to the fore. Nourish, flourish, bloom, savour, even luxuriate, all tried out. All good words and definitely what I'm hoping for in the year to come but none of them quite right. I think what they collectively suggest is a desire for continued expansion and growth but not in the form of frenetic, hugely challenging, mostly exhausting and often anxiety provoking movement and change (which is what this past year's been all about), but rather a slowing down to allow for something deeper to evolve and something more soul-full and un-rushed to emerge; a gentler pace, inner and outer space to breathe and stretch and feed myself well - literally and metaphorically, simple but abundant pleasures, meaningful connections, calm and confidence and contentment on the inside that matches what I project on the outside. And then it came. The word. Ease.

Ease. Like a sigh.

Like the feeling I always enjoy when I spend time consciously, slowly and deeply, savouring every moment - either alone or alongside loved ones... Ease.

It conjures for me the whisper of wind through grass and trees, the shush of ocean waves on the shore, and the soft scrunch of bare toes on beach sand. Dynamic but gentle: a sense and rhythm of ease.

Wouldn't it be great if I could experience that even in the midst of my everyday everydayness with its ongoing busyness, challenges, grotty hotels carpets and all? So that's what I'll be seeking, learning to create, focussing on establishing....

When I looked it up in the dictionary this is what I found:

Ease [eez]
Noun
1. freedom from labour, pain, or physical annoyance; tranquil rest; comfort
2. freedom from concern, anxiety, or solicitude; a quiet state of mind: to be at ease
3. freedom from difficulty or great effort; facility
4. freedom from financial need; plenty
5. freedom from stiffness, constraint, or formality; unaffectedness: ease of manner

Verb (used with object), eased, eas·ing.
6. to free from anxiety or care
7. to mitigate, lighten, or lessen
8. to release from pressure, tension, or the like
9. to move or shift with great care
10. to render less difficult; facilitate

Synonyms
1. repose, contentment, effortlessness. Ease, comfort refer to a sense of relaxation or of well-being. Ease implies a relaxed condition with an absence of effort or pressure: a life of ease. Comfort suggests a sense of well-being, along with ease, which produces a quiet happiness and contentment. 2. tranquillity, serenity, calmness, peace. 5. naturalness, informality. 6. comfort, relieve, disburden, soothe. 7. alleviate, assuage, allay, abate.

And when I look at my vision board again I see it there too, in so many forms. Calling to me.

Ease. Like a sigh.

Yes, thank you. That will do nicely.

And so the year begins for me. Today. Happy New Year!

It doesn't take much...

But even if I'm left high and dry at the end of this wild journey, just taking it is a great feeling.

Olivia Wilde

Even after all these years, and what must amount to hundreds of flights (I took my first alone as an unaccompanied minor, to visit my grandparents, at the age of 5) I still love the little kits one gets on planes, with a pair of socks, an eye mask, earplugs, toothbrush and teeny tiny toothpaste in them*. Whether I use the goodies or not, whether they're really tacky or a bit more stylish in presentation, it makes no difference. In my mind (even when I fly for work) they are inextricably linked with adventure.

I really love this one's name (just in case we aren't sure of its purpose?) and it got me thinking... wouldn't it be fab if everyone could carry a tiny feel good kit around that, on less than great days, senses exactly what's needed and when it's opened up, there it is?! If I could have a magical job, I think it might be to create these... what fun!

The contents of mine would vary from day to day - some days a hug, some days a good book, some days a nice long bubble bath or a nap in a hammock... every day, chocolate.

How 'bout yours?

* I've never yet flown business or first class and I bet their feel good kits are amazing! It's on my list... just once, just for the experience (oh, okay... and the kit! ;)

Unrolling rainbows

Last year, as a Birthday gift to myself, and inspired by this beautiful book, I signed up for a painting class.

I've always wanted to draw and paint. Or at least, for as long as I can remember. Art was not my recognised "thing" growing up though and when I was in my early thirties, I took myself off to my first art class since primary school.  I was following a quiet but insistent voice that had become harder and harder to ignore. I loved attending at first, being exposed to the creativity of others and having space to dabble in my own drawings and paintings, although my lack of skill felt frustrating and limiting. To be expected, I told myself. I'd never had any training. It would come. My art teacher - a lovely, professional fine-artist - worked hard to encourage me and provide me with technique. I practiced. My skills grew but not in line with my hopes (and expectations). I really struggled to turn out realistic and recognisable shape and form, to master shadowing and perspective... I never really did. I still haven't.

It became a sometimes painful undertaking. What started as a joyful exploration turned into an energy-draining exercise. I accepted that my creativity's not likely to be expressed in a beautifully executed charcoal/pencil drawing or a superbly controlled watercolour, how ever much I might admire these. I was disappointed with myself. I accepted that I'd perhaps not master the proper proportions of the human form within this lifetime. Stick people still challenge me. We worked on small canvases with limited palettes because materials were expensive and I was not brave or bold enough to venture beyond this format. 12"x18" is still the largest I've ever tackled. I made the mistake of sharing my fledgling attempts with someone whose opinion I valued (not sure why with hindsight) and he was even more critical of them than I. I became disheartened. The harder I tried, the less satisfying it felt and the more tightly wound and less associated with joy the whole process became for me. I stopped looking forward as much to going to class. When I changed countries, I was sorry to leave it behind but I haven't attended one since. Eventually, I stopped painting altogether, even in private. I wanted to master the rules before I felt I could legitimately break them. After all, Picasso and Kandinsky painted the most exquisitely realistic portraits and landscapes before adopting their distinctive break-out styles.

To put this in some realistic context too: I come from a family of wonderfully talented creative souls - many of whom do have artistic educations and amazing skills. That can be a pretty intimidating. Not that they've ever suggested my efforts are less worthy but I could see the difference. I compared myself and came up wanting. Rationally, I knew I would not catch up. Emotionally, that left me feeling inadequate.

But... the urge to paint remained. And I have changed. Am changing.

I don't have the time now or (more honestly) the inclination to practice drawing finely wrought and detailed botanical studies before I move onto expressionistic versions, like a Monet waterlily.... I might never create something that anyone else will even recognise as a specific flower species, however abstract. I can practice, I can improve. But it's not the thing for me. I'm just not that kind of artist. And... that's okay. More than okay.

Self-evident one might think but it took me a while to truly accept this.

It goes deeper than just being unable to catch up on a painting boat I missed in youth too. This is something I've only properly come to understand in the past few years and applies to my life in general, hence the changes I've made over the past year to my career path. Pursuing one's inclinations, being true to type* sometimes at least, is a good thing. In painting specifically, this reveals itself if I do manage to ignore the loud and critical voices in my head in favour of the quieter deeper whispers, which does happen occasionally. I'm actually much happier (and always have been, I now recognise!) when I just smoosh paint around and don't worry about what it's going to be at the end, how polished the technique is, or who will approve of it. Contrary to my early thoughts on the subject, liking my own creations and enjoying the creative process is not so much about being able to convert what I imagine in advance or what I observe in the real world into something detailed or recognisable on paper or canvas. It's about expressing mood. And playing with colour. And revelling in abstraction and symbolism. I felt this instinctively all those years ago but rationalised it (my habitual mode) as lack of talent or, perhaps worse, to excuse my lack of effort and commitment to practice. I don't mean to suggest that I'm now a Picasso or a Kandinsky in the making but if I pick my medium appropriately, I'm more likely to approach the range they had... and that pleases me. Photography allows me to capture the representative images that I cannot draw or paint.  And even then, I naturally tend towards the evocative rather than the journalistic... I understand better why this is now.

I still wish I could draw and paint well (i.e. realistically) and there's always likely to be something of a tension because I'd like to be accomplished in this way. I acknowledge now though that's mostly because there's satisfaction (and ego and pride) for me in learning to do things "well" and being able to demonstrate that. In this case though it's both counter-intuitive and counter-productive. I'm still working through this but I'm learning to listen in to the quieter voice, to trust it more. And I'm consciously looking for ways to create space for it to breathe and grow. So, to my choice of painting class... (I know, long way 'round to it or what?!)

I've been hankering after this class (or one like it) for ages and believe that the approach we'll be exploring, as demonstrated by our lovely guide, Flora Bowley, will encourage and enable my intuitive-colour-smooshing-happy-to-see-what-emerges artist to fully embrace and enjoy the process. We'll be working on huge (by my standards) canvases and using lots of colourful acrylics, which I'm told are very forgiving of a lack of practiced technique. Flora encourages her students not to entertain the notion of "mistakes" and to start, not with the end in mind, but to set aside expectation and to work with what emerges.... I think this will be freeing in all sorts of ways for me. I'm hoping that it will enable me to release a lot of the this residual painting-is-for-real-artists-and-I'm-not-one baggage and to escape into that colourful, creative flow I love, more often... not to mention, providing an antidote to the stresses of everyday work and the relentless grey of winter. I'm a bit nervous and I know I'll be challenged by it - the habits of a lifetime are hard to unlearn and the inner critic hard to silence - but mostly, I'm very excited.

We started today, with some thoughtful intention setting. Tomorrow we put paint on canvas. Yesterday, as I was getting the materials and space ready, I ended up testing some colours on my dropcloth. I also painted my toenails in honour of the occasion and, because I couldn't choose between turquoise and purple, I used both. After all, what does it matter? There are no mistakes and it's what felt right at the time. They make me happy. As does the rainbow underfoot....

I am ready.

*It's interesting (well to me it is - I'm fascinated by what makes people, including me, tick) because some of the pieces of this puzzle really fell into place for me when I undertook my MBTI practitioner training a few years ago. I'm what's identified as an -N-P type. I'd known that for many years before (I was "typed" on two previous occasions by employers) but the implications of it were not fully clear to me until I studied the tool and dynamics of preference in more depth. My academic and corporate experiences have provided me with useful skills (even habits) for working well (if not always satisfyingly) in a predominantly -S-J business environment but, when it comes to art... it really doesn't work for me. I don't enjoy it and I don't experience much benefit from it. As described above, it disengages and paralyses me instead.

The way I perceive, process and communicate information and operate most effectively is when I'm called upon for (w)holistic insight and behaviours unconstrained by too much convention and control. 

As an N, I'm stifled by lots of detail - more at home in the realms of abstraction, the conceptual, and big-picture connections. I'm the person in a group who may not recall facts and figures or concrete details but will distill patterns and trends, capture the gist, or synthesise meaning. This can infuriate my (unaware) S counterparts because it might seem like I'm forgetful, or just can't be bothered to take notice and remember. But it's not that at all. I am observant. I use my senses just as keenly. How I typically experience, apply, recall and share that input differs from the way someone with an S-preference typically does. And it has its uses. I'm not the person you want as a witness to a crime though - big, dark, with four wheels is probably as much as I'll have noticed about the getaway vehicle...

Thanks to my P preferences, I'm also quite comfortable in a nebulous, option-laden and emergent situation. I enjoy seeing how things unfold, going with the flow, rather than following an organised plan to a predetermined outcome. Not a preference I can afford to bring to complex project management situations (and I thank my -S-J learning in these situations) but that I like to follow when I learn or travel for pleasure, for example. And, if not something to be explored and given free rein in art, then where? This time, I believe I'm exploring an -N-P-friendly creative process. It'll be interesting to see what happens.

The ugly truth

Some days:

~ I spend the whole day in my pyjamas not because it's a lovely leisurely thing to do (although I do that too) but because I just don't have the energy or the inclination to get dressed.

~ I eat bits of cheese, biscuits and leftover Christmas fruitcake because my fridge is bare and I can't be bothered to leave my flat to restock it. And they don't need to be cooked.

~ I wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat because I've just done the most stupid thing ever and left a regular income and a 'good' job for a life of insecure everything. Idiot!

~ I don't feel in the least bit brave and independent and I'd give anything to have someone who would at least share the load if not carry it entirely for a while. And by 'load' I mean everything-little-thing, including changing lightbulbs and buying milk.

~ I wonder if I will ever be kissed again and the thought that I might not be makes me cry.

~ I really, really don't want to speak to anyone but I am cross because no one phones me so that I can let their call go to voicemail.

~ I do feel sad and sorry for myself and tempted to just wallow around in it despite how ridiculous it is and all that I know I have to be grateful for.

~ I dislike myself intensely for all of these things.

Not every day. Not even many days. But some days.

Fortunately, as my Nana always said, "Tomorrow is another day..."

Space...

...to work and play.

In the 21st century on a horribly overcrowded planet and in Europe, where layer upon layer of time and building has closed down the sky and too many people are crowded into geographic proximity, excess living space feels like the ultimate luxury to me. This being the case, I'm very fortunate because, for now at least, I have plenty of it. I've lived in several tiny places and there's something very satisfying about being able to live well in a compact space. But oh, the joy of having space to spare... I enjoy that SO much. I have this whole extra room in my apartment that I use for both work and play and that I love. It's not grand. The furniture is cheap Ikea stuff and it's always in need of a bit of tidying up but being in here makes me very happy. Because it's extra space. Unnecessary space. Full of things that are meaningful to me. I don't need it but having it is such a pleasure.

Standing this year in places where the sky was huge and where there was often not another person to be seen from horizon to horizon (apart sometimes from my nearest and dearest) I was struck again by how I grow and thrive in space. I love the freedom it represents. I could breathe. I could move.

Space to work and to play - a luxury? I've been thinking about this in the less physical sense as well - about having space to breathe and move mentally and emotionally, to think and dream and explore and plan and grow and do, and just to be.

Space to do good work and space to play, creatively, freely... This often seems like a luxury too. Finding the space for all that can be a challenge and, in my experience, what tends to get squeezed out if there's not enough are the good bits.

Reflecting on this past year, where I experienced both states - the over-crowded and the space-to-spare state - has reminded me of how this is actually less about luxury and more about what's essential to good living for me. To a good life. Having more physical space is definitely a luxury. Having mental and emotional space is something I need. And so I have to be conscious about finding it. Creating it. Appreciating it. Enjoying it. Protecting it. Filling it (or at least some of it) with good work and good play.

I thought for a while that my word for 2013 was going to be fly (verb not insect!), which is a good word and I hope there's lots of it to come, but I've decided at the last minute that it's space instead. Because without space, no flying can occur.

Farewell 2012. You've been a strange and amazing year.

♡

Grounded in 2012

Inspired and delighted by Lisa's beautiful, colourful and soul-full 'I was here' mosaics, I thought I'd look back through my 2012 photographs to see what I could find out about where my own feet have been this year.

I usually take lots of foot and shadow shots - sometimes they're the only pictures I have of myself in a place and are the self-portraits I'm most comfortable with - but I apparently didn't take that many this year. I wonder why that is, given that I did more travelling than I have in a very long time and had more sunshine to play with. I seemed to be even more focussed on horizons and skies than usual though and have zillions (maybe even gazillions) of these!

I notice when I look at these that I'm very drawn to texture underfoot - it's often what causes me to pause. They're all - to me - very evocative of where I was at the time, which is why I take them, but I think I'll make more of an effort in the year to come to take some different pictures of myself in situ... or at least, some different foot-shots.