22 & not a clue

A balmy day that started with torrential rain and built into something similar to Southern Spain. Ice creams dripped and dogs panted whilst kids dipped dinky toes into Diana's memorial fountains.

Hiding from the sun in Hyde Park, a novel idea struck upon by hundreds of Londoners every lazy Saturday afternoon since the dawn of Londinium itself. We weren't unique.

Bunches of buddies and pools of pals broke bread and sunk ciders, celebrating 48 hours of 'well deserved' freedom - for don't we all work 5 days to live for 2?

Luxuriating on scratchy pieces of green making a patchwork of blankets smothering the lawn, each group from one to the next, the old, the young and the beautiful sagging into make-shift seats or folding into deck chairs.

Today we were young and golden, tomorrow we're back in the office.

At the bottom of a hill in a small Irish town there lies a newsagents that boasts a funny smell. The owner looked his best 30 years ago and hasn't changed since. His cream cardigan is grubby, his finger nails orange, tinged from many a year spent rolling tobacco. The darting pink of his tongue running along the paper as it rolls together to make yet another 'bine'.

The kids outside bounce the ball against the wall for another time. He stirs from his stool, paper crushed by his side to be brandished.  The door bell chimes in a rush as he storms through to shout unintelligably. A mixture of uniforms, green with badges embroidered on and black with pockets hanging off. High school and Grammar kids mooch around in this no man's land.

Resting at the bottom of this hill the shop is a divide between the wealthier end of town and the estates backing onto it. From 15:30 - 16:00 the kids loiter, in this lost section of time when they aren't quite expected home yet and don't quite want to leave. The grammar girls mingle with the high school boys who make jokes and lean against the wall without a care, ignoring them. Hockey boys dart the spit balls thrown their way and the girls giggle on.

Stan has seen them all come and go, white tights with brown leather shoes, short skirts with high heels and black bras under white shirts. His darting tongue running across paper after paper as nimble dirty fingers fold and roll. The stubs of his finger tips become black from newspaper ink as he thumbs through the papers slowly, waiting for that golden half hour each day.

The world truly is a funny place. Last night I met an 18 year old who had never been kissed, never had a drink and never smoked anything in her life. And I just wanted to hold her like a baby dove in my hands. She looked so precious and fresh to the world.

I have been reading PostSecret since 2006. That is almost a decade. At 22 a decade is a long time. I have checked this site religiously every sunday since forever. Forever being 15. Because before that nothing really mattered. I have opened this webpage and found countless postcards which have struck a chord or rung true for me. They have comforted and given voice to thousands of black thoughts, doubts and secret happiness' that if you have never seen it before you cannot understand until you do.

The site gets updated every Sunday morning US time so I usually check it in the evening. It has always been part of my sundays for as long as I care to remember. I have two of the books, have written endless articles about it and given one memorably awkward classroom presentation. So today when I remembered to check it, this postcard was sitting at the top waiting to greet me.

Fate. I have always believed in signs and things happening for a reason. This is yet another one of those. This made me smile, I am not alone, someone else is in this lonely boat. Smile guys. We'll get through.

Not before a near death experience journey to the airport with two minutes to spare before check-in closed. Followed by a delayed flight which was then cancelled and then having to spend the night in a $140 sweat box for the night.




When I got in the taxi on Monday morning groggy, sleep deprived and a little stale the driver turned and smiled at me.
"Good time eh?"
"Oh hell yeah, I partied all weekend"
"First time to Sydney"
"Yeah I've been saving for months"
"Ah, good. Life is soo short. Don't work soo hard. People always working soo hard and not appreciate what they have. You took time. You stopped. Good for you".

Stopping, breathing and taking time to appreciate how far you've come can be good for you. Amongst the pirate raves and the neon lights that colour your life, stopping and saying yes to the things you truly want to do and achieve is living. That is what all the anecdotes and metaphors are talking about.

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.