22 & not a clue

I am fortunate to have a trio of wonderful friends who span 3 decades ahead of me at 32, 42 & 52. Each one tells me a different story of their 20s, how they too spun circles around themselves and the many men they were involved with in an effort to better understand themselves. Or how they also made spontaneous decisions & wondered six months later how all this had come to pass. Their stories all differed from one another, but their uncertainty and doubt did not.

Now they smile patiently over many a glass of wine as I sit opposite & ask 'why? Where to next? How will I do this? When will I do that? & worst of all is it enough?'. Their beautiful yet bemused faces take in mine & in that moment I know they have been there. It is wonderful to have older friends. I am privileged to witness the progression of woman through so many beautiful souls. I am even more privileged to learn from them.

Eventually after a few more glasses and a lot of laughter they all, in one way or another make the same point – what you want now will change & who you are now will change too. Don’t let that scare you, accept it as part of your journey.

It seems we don’t ever fully master dealing with our lot, we are in an ever evolving state of acceptance. Learning to deal with one shitty situation better than we did the last. All the while dreaming big and aiming high don’t forget. The dreaming and the aiming doesn’t stop it just accustoms itself better to our reality. We tailor our next endeavour as we grow through the last. Our wants will wain and our desires differ, but as women it is an innate part of our programming to want more.

What I believe is the actual goal in the meantime isn’t happiness or success; but contentedness. Happiness is a long term goal, but if we can’t appreciate being content in the here and now then how do we ever fully expect to enjoy true happiness when it finally shows up to the party.

We are all just walking through the wilderness on sand, hoping the next step will be less precarious than the last. The truth is that we have no control over that aspect of our lives, in fact we have no control whatsoever. All we can do is cling to yet more metaphors and hope we make the best decision as to where to place our feet next.

'At 22, if your dreams don't scare you then they aren't big enough my darling'

I always say at some point I will turn my life into a book, or maybe a tv series. But then GIRLS happened & Lena Dunham stole all my ideas. Regardless I have to believe my life can't be this ridiculous without a good reason - to publish it.

What happened the other night is the stuff of nightmares. Living this far away from the origin of all yours sins sort of gives you an undue sense of confidence. You aren't going to run into any exes or bitches out here. But no one prepared me for running into their ghosts.

Sitting outside in the cool Melbourne air on Monday night; casually whiling away the hours before bed time & the start of yet another working week. A Flatmate had friends round & here enters our character: Adam. Adam is a Brit, but unlike ever other Pom round these parts he has a more sunny disposition. Everything had a silver lining to Adam's perspective & thank god for that.

We're chilling out, discussing hilarious and disastrous dating experiences in the efforts to cheer up a Canadian friend who has just been jilted by Love. It's my turn, which should I choose? There have been a few. One particular period stands out vividly but that's another story.

Adam hails from a particularly grey area of Essex where it just so happens an ex came from also. He reminds me of this & I laugh. I give away a few details; the predilection for weed, the disastrous hair & then finally the reason we parted: 'You should sleep with other people'.
"I mean who says that!?" I shouted. No but really? It wasn't until the final detail I revealed that Adam stands & is convinced that's his friend Blaine. 'It's Blaine! It is not Blaine! Ginger pubes? That's Blaine!'

Fuck. it was. But I mean how many guys from Essex do you know with ginger pubes & natural black hair? My horrendous romantic choices had come to haunt me & Adam was only too willing to tell me how pathetic they were. My flat mates couldn't get over it. This was hilarious. I wanted to be sick.

The topic didn't drop all night & I no longer feel safe in public. How many other ghosts are out there hidden behind the guise of a well meaning friend or acquaintance? I am living proof that you can come 10&1/2 Thousand miles & still be haunted by your past. Try as you might, no matter how much ice cream or wine you pile on top of that one there is no escaping your past. It will always be there like a spot without a head you are watching over in agony.

There is no escape Guys. I just take comfort in the knowledge that I didn't come out here running away from anything. This isn't an escape & despite my melodramatic musings: my history isn't that bad, but if it could be a while between this & the next ghost I'd appreciate it.

I often mention my life in Melbourne in passing in my posts but I don't talk about it in any great depths. I like to infuse a sense of the any woman; this could be any city anywhere throughout these posts. After all we are just people struggling through in the end; regardless of which continent or country.

I get told I am brave and that people envy me for my choices after uni, frequently. I have had many a friend who has told me how they dream of doing something like this. But the thing I can't get my head around, is why don't they? It isn't that hard. You quit your job, buy a flight, throw a banging party & go.
You throw yourself out there. Cling to an edge or two & just take a chance.

Saying this, I know for a fact I am not made of exceptionally strong stuff & except for the usual bag of crazy mixed with a tendency towards neurotic I am nothing out of the ordinary. I think bungee jumping is crazy, heights scare the shit out of me & I have never been on a roller-coaster - I hardly live on the edge.

So why is it that this is such a big deal? Maybe it's the distance? 10,490+ thousand miles is Alot. Believe me. Or maybe it is the wholly alien, the unknown?They're right though guys- Vegemite does taste the same. Either way I truly believe the average graduate these days needs to not only think outside of the box, but rip that fucker to pieces & start again. How do you ever expect to stand out if you followed the crowd?

I am on dangerous ground here as many wonderful people I know have stayed & fought the good fight after uni and are making progress. I do not want to be on a high horse or a cross for that matter. I simply wish to throw a spanner in the works & ask why not? Why shouldn't you even just consider buggering off out of which ever hemisphere for a while?

The irony is that I have met more Paddys in Melbourne than in my last three years in London. This is the place to come to in a failing economy. You only have to stroll down Acland street or head for Bridies on Chapel street to know that. I will be going back to London to get away from them all the city is so overrun.

Despite all this when it truly comes down to it & I weigh it all up, maybe you guys were right to stay. Often times I feel like a message in a bottle - afloat, adrift & alone. But then I remember that like all such bottles destined for land I too will come ashore when the tide is right. I just haven't been through enough currents or high seas yet.

I will be back. But not yet. Not yet.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that thinking too much leads to imploding and wrinkles. Which is why, dear readers, at the age of 22 I can plant potatoes in this forehead of mine.

I am a bottler. I bottle everything up, flood the lives of my friends with positivity, advice & motivation whilst I drown in an inner emotional whirl pool of self doubt & negativity. I don't take compliments and there are few people whose opinion or advice I trust. You can't tell me anything because either I've heard it before or I think you're full of shit anyway. I am a pathetic emotional enigma & the older I get the more I just roll my eyes at myself and get on with it.

That said, the more I open up about this & the more I write what I am truly feeling at that point in time; the more positive a response I receive. Are we all whirling alone together? Take the oxymoron however you like but I have evidence to suggest we are. Maybe it's the female condition to over think, worry and generally go mad about all the possible tomorrows? Or perhaps the people who respond to this blog are just crazy too.

Regardless of which ever unfortunate truth you choose to believe the fact still stands that if we do not communicate and process our thoughts productively it all just builds in our head till we find ourselves screaming at our psychology student Flatmate who is only trying to help as we row with every inanimate object in sight.

Breathe.

Ok so from the top. Take a pen & paper & list the main negative thought that circles through that brain of yours. Write a list of reasons for and against & then examine that list. In all likelihood it's an irrational thought which if you use your mind over your mood you should be able to reason down to a more manageable size. It's all very well indulging it to have something to stress over. However if this thought is stopping you from sleeping at night then this may not be such a bad idea.

If you continually practice the attitude of:

"If you don't like something: change it.
If you can't change it: change your perspective".

Then you will find your mind will be stronger than your mood. The brain is not a muscle however it works in the same way. Being ruled continually by your emotions is exhausting. Take control of your thought processes by merely reasoning them out.

That being said you'll have to excuse me; I have unfinished business with an oven & a heap of worrying to do for tomorrow.

I run around Melbourne in thongs or heels all day (talk about all or nothing), clutching my fake longchamps that is long passed its best. I throw myself into trams & trains wedged between tiny Asian woman & a man with a suspicious smell issuing from his bag. Faintly banana like. You know who you are. I get to my office, basement, air conditioned & light adjusted white room where I spend 8hrs of my day thinking about all the other things I want to or need to be doing.
I swan around the office as the youngest team member frustrated at the lack of men & bored with my lunch by 11 & I wonder what the hell I am doing here.

The weather in Melbourne since the heat wave passed has been similar to a teenager. Sweaty, changeable & prone to tears. I wake up wondering what the hell to wear for 23 degrees with rain all day. Its like some form of sadistic pathetic fallacy. This heat with this weather just freaks me. It throws me off. We are supposed to be in autumn & it's 24 degrees. I am a duck out of too hot water.

So I priss about all day wondering whether I will work out tonight at home.
I do Pilates you know. That's floor exercises where I think I look like the woman on YouTube I have enlarged on my battered Mac book for the sole purpose of finding my 'abdominals'. I'm sorry, what?
What is this? This fuckery I am calling adult life. I'm still checking to make sure my skirt isn't in my knickers most mornings. How do I qualify for life right now?

If I am an adult then how did that happen? Why did no one teach me at school how to fill in a tax return? Why was I not taught how to work out which electricity company is cheapest? This bill is in Chinese. Why did I have to learn to write a cover letter the hard way? And why does no one prepare you for what seems like an endless gap between right now & your career. Where are the rungs of this ladder I am apparently climbing?

Is it just me or are you also sitting on public transport heading for your air conditioned box wondering why the hell you tore your hair out over Pythagoras theorem at 15? That your mother was wrong, it will never be useful & as a financial administrator I can safely say that calculators are the only option. Curriculums are all fucked. Why are we teaching our kids Pi & not teaching them about tax & insurance. Why did I have to teach myself how to change a tyre?
Where has life learning gone.
And we wonder why teenagers don't know how to boil an egg. Seriously.

I have to believe that I manage quite well all things considered. If I can cross the world & hit the restart button without total melt down then I must have done something right. But as a person who gets upset when the kitchen knobs don't all face the same way ( & I am not referring to my male flat mates for a change) I am finding just coping with all this a struggle.

I am tired. I am hungry. I am bored. I bandy on on this blog about changing your life & positivity when frankly I am a grumpy so and so whose just full of good advice. So if anyone has any tips on how to be a successful adult throw them my way because if I don't get some sleep & my head screwed on properly soon I may find the banana smelling man & make the fat man on tram 59 sit on him.

Or maybe I just need it to be Friday already. I'm pretty sure in 20 years time I will still be the woman checking my knickers.

For me this word sums up all the excitement I feel when I think about my future back in London combined with all the mystery surrounding the next six months. I have not got a clue what's around the next corner and there is no word for that feeling; until now. Vorfreude.

In our grandparent's generation you met someone, fell in love & got married. There was only one experience of love. You did not have many boyfriends or lovers. You met, courted, met the family, fell in love & lived out your life together. That was what happened. In some ways it appears simpler. It seems idyllic. Personally I can't imagine getting married to my first boyfriend as we were children at 15 and I barely know the man he has become now.

There is something to be said for how things used to be in the art of love. If your first love was your only love, and if that was all you had known then surely there's an argument to be made that these people knew less loss. I have yet to experience anything as painful and lasting as the loss of love. Some of my own break ups I will never forget, and will undoubtedly immortalise on a page at some point. If I haven't already. The countless poems, sentences & ruminated thoughts that the average teenage girl collects so early on these days must baffle the older generations. We must appear in constant states of heartache or heartbreak to our grandparents, who ask how that boy you dated 10 months ago is doing.





I can only assume as I no longer have grandparents. But I did introduce my ex to my Grandpa, I don't regret it but I do remember his guffaw at my words 'he's a keeper'. How right you were Grandpa. Do young women now not have the first clue as to what a 'keeper' actually is? Or maybe the concept is just null and void. It's a shame because we are conditioned to want the 'first, my last, my everything' and maybe this vicious hunt causes us to hold ourselves less dear and in doing so we rack up notches on our proverbial bed post.

Either way one thing is clear, we just don't fall in love the way we used to. Not most of us anyway. Even our parents can boast more lovers and a mysterious past. The twentieth century has ruined courtship and classical romance. I should know, I have spent the past three years studying this. I am also a veteran dater and renowned for my terrible taste in men. Until very recently I hasten to add.

The casual use of terminologies such as 'seeing' & 'dating' are alien terms to our grandparents. That's just it I suppose; casual, our relationships, our bodies and our hearts. We are too flippant about all of these things; I feel conflicted as I want to exercise my right as a woman to have casual sex. Yet I feel we may only be doing ourselves and perhaps our sex a damage in the long run as we do not place enough value on ourselves.


I will continue blindly stumbling through love regardless of everything I have just said. But I would say, that it would have been nice if it had happened that way. But in truth what are the chances. We don't wait anymore, least not the way man kind used to. Fewer women know now what it is like to wait for a man to return, not only from war but from life. Why can't two people wait for each other? Why won't we is a better question.

There is a man on the 59 tram who quite literally takes up most of two seats. He somehow always finds a seat and always has his earphones plugged in & an iPad wedged between his forearm & chest.

I have observed him often in the mornings, mainly because he appears blissfully ignorant of the raised eyebrows, disgusted looks & sharp glances from fellow passengers perched beside him. I'm sure its a life long practiced skill.
I have often thought to myself that if he tried to sit beside me I would say something & ask him to sit elsewhere. I have also thought how it would be better if people sitting next to him just stood instead of being so rude.

So this morning the only seat available was a few square inches beside this man. I perched precariously for most of the journey, cursing him silently & judging him for being the way he is. Surely he should be considerate of others and stand. Or apologise? Or walk?! The longer I sat there the more people got on, scuffing my feet, standing on my toes & sticking their arses in my ears. I was infuriated.

But as I sat there, I glanced over at his iPad & read the screen. He was reading a romantic online fan fiction story. The tale seemed gripping and judging by the pace of reading it was. The heroine appeared passionate yet vulnerable, the villain sleazy and beguiling. There was no sign of the hero, yet.

I am a hypocrite in every sense of the word, not just because I have many plus size friends, am plus size myself and simultaneously loathe & pity this man. But because I chose to be mean minded first, rather than practicing what I so often preach which is compassion. He didn't wear a wedding band, he wasn't particularly attractive facially, but none of that matters. I condemned him for what I saw on the surface alone.

After a few minutes more observing him and the story I started to realise he was just another A searching for a B. We all want to love & be loved in return, regardless of shape, size or form. Who dictates how and what we should love? Why should one body be shamed in the support of another & who says one body shape is superior in aesthetics to another?

It only takes one person to love you & think you are wonderful. Not the whole of society.

I'm ashamed of myself for being so cross at a man who was just going about his business best he can like the rest of us. The truth however is that I can preach about compassion all I like but at the end of the day society will still think for us. Change in views and attitudes work at a snails pace, there will always be prejudices and rudeness wherever we go. What helps change is the recognition of the negative and the search or discovery of the good and the things in common.

They say life begins at 40.
Well I bloody hope not.

I'm only just beginning, only just getting started on all this adult life stuff & I'm in love with it. The struggle & the complete uncertainty. Sure most of the time it leaves my stomach in knots, my brain fried & my bank account completely empty like a really bad lover. But it's living. This is life, and sure it's not meant to always be this hard. But you have to put the ground work in before you can expect results.

Staying up till all hours planning, editing and hunting down contacts has become my routine. I have to get up 30 minutes earlier just to manage all of my social media. These days, like right now for example, I write my posts on my Blogger app standing precariously wedged between a Thai woman in my armpit and the bearded hunk I try to flirt awkwardly with most mornings.
This is my life. I do a dull data entry job that pays well by day & write and plan every other waking hour of the day. It's not bad by most people's standards. But my god if someone offered me the chance to write back in London I'd jump through hoops of fire, kiss endless frogs & get the companies name tattooed on my arse.

That's how bad I want this. You have gotta have passion. If its not there then what Are you doing?

We're all just looking for a break. That opportune moment when the universe conspires to throw us a bone. I'm hunting for my bone & maybe it will just find me. Like love, a career has to be pursued, but maybe there's something to be said for having faith that it will happen if you let it.
Network, work hard, do everything besides that you love even if it means writing into the small hours & don't give up hope.

We're in our 20s baby, this was never meant to be easy.

It feels like your early twenties are spent in a nauseating state of flux between anxiety and panic. "What will I do? Who Will I be? Will anyone ever love me? Where will I go? How will I afford life? Ever?!"
It's one never-ending cycle of euphoric highs and depressive lows. No one ever has sufficient advice to give you other than hang in there baby. Eventually you begin to feel like that metaphorical kitty in the poster in that you truly believe you may slip, fall and not land on your feet for a change.

But baby you've got a rubber arse. You can only bounce back.

That's the mentality you just gotta have. Because in ten years time you will want to tell your twenty something self to chill the fuck out. You will wish you had appreciated the highs and had more patience with the lows.

I had some bad news today. I let it get to me. It was all I could think about. Before I knew it I felt sick, wanted to cry and couldn't breathe. I panicked. Over something which I already have multiple solutions for. I had a job offer last week for God's sake. I have contacts. I am resourceful. Yet despite all this positive evidence for why this reaction was unjustified I was right there, down in the low letting it wash over me. Sometimes all you want to do is lie down under the sheer overwhelming terror; 'how will I pay the rent this month?", "will I ever get a job?" etc. We panic most about situations over which we have the least control. And at twenty-something control over our life is absolutely vital. It is central to our being, because we are beginning to shape and define who we are.

The truth is, having less control may actually open up more avenues of opportunity. By letting go we open up to chance, and in fact Life itself comes at us.

So after wallowing well into the afternoon I strolled downtown in the sunshine to Salsa. I caught a glimpse of my hair in a shop window & just walked straight into the nearest hairdressers I could find.
I hate the hair dressers. I hate people coming near my hair with scissors, because having such long hair all they ever seem to want to do is chop it all off.
This lovely asian lady greeted me and after giving her strict instructions about what I wanted she combed it all out and smiled at me.
"You must have man"
"Hmm.. yes, I suppose"
"You either have or you haven't, which is it?"
I grinned up at her, my head eerily superimposed on this vast black triangle. "I have man, but not here. He's in London."
She gave me a puzzled look & shrugged. "You leave him for here?"
"Yes. I don't quite know why."
"You young. Be happy. Much time for that. Much much."
We grinned at each other, I asked her about her man and she said not anymore. But once. Advised me to find an Australian boy, French man aren't to be trusted and then chopped away.
"You like me. You come back in two month."
I smiled and tipped her 5 bucks and left.

Sometimes you have to cut out the dead ends, cut short the panic and lighten the load on your shoulders.
Focus on the positives. Like the one you love and who loves you. Or the good friend who listens to you over a glass of wine.
Focus on all the opportunities this change may bring.

Because you will bounce back.

It's Valentines day. My day was unexpectedly full of good things. Starting with the IT guy in my office giving me chocolate. Pleasing result considering I thought he'd been staring at my chest all week. He probably has, if I had standards I wouldn't have eaten it but I don't.

This was followed by one of those conversations that leaves your stomach doing somersaults with a certain man who has my heart like melted butter in a croissant; deeply layered and bad for you. But oh so good. French butter. The kind Julia stiles could only dream of.

The day dragged on & I began to daydream about things that may never happen. The bad things & all the worries of the tomorrows that may or may not ever come to pass. The way you do at 3pm after your third green tea of the day and a full inbox. This was until I was pulled up by my ears by my best friend who is freezing her tits off in the bowels of England teaching wretches for pennies. She basically slapped me about with reality for a while thank god. We all need someone who is willing to tell us what we need to hear & not always just what we want to hear. Only true friends have the balls to tell it to you straight.
Follow this by a very emotional youtube video of US Marines surprising their loved ones and I'm feeling suitably positive and appreciative of life.

That is until I have thwacked my way through several dozen walking rose bushes, pushed past the women dragging boxes wider than themselves & just generally hissed & spat my way down most of Elizabeth street where I get to salsa and we decide to warm things up a little with a glass of bubbly.
Definitely a good idea as there were more couples on bad first dates than ever before.

Fast forward a few trodden toes, my bruised ego & we are back at the pub.
Conversation ensues & it turns out everyone is keen on this. We all want to get it right. I want to get over myself and 'let it go' the irony being all too obvious I know. The guys want to get the steps down & lead & the women just want to be lead.

We are all looking for a partner with whom it will all just click. Did you see what I did there? Yet another relationship metaphor. But it is the truth. Come right down to it & every individual wants to get it just right with the right partner.

Its just you have to let go of all the other crap first.

And it's not until I sit on the tram home, noticing the scuffs on her heels, that he hasn't ironed his shirt, that her skirt is too short & she's conscious about it, he's got a rip in his jeans & she looks a little sunburnt, but that they all look happy. That I remember, that life & love for that matter are not about perfection.

It is not about getting it right. It is about the scuffs and the creases. The rips & the burns.
It's about making all the mistakes with someone willing to make them with you.