Month: April 2014

What Comes First?

/ frankiegolightly

I caught myself being inauthentic yesterday.  I had an email out of the blue from an ex, an Australian surfer-dude type.  Younger than me.  In my reply I found myself using his language – wicked, vibing, that sort of thing; certainly not words I would typically use.  And the reason wasn’t for common understanding, oh no.  I wasn’t modifying my language to be more appropriate or for easy comprehension.  I was doing it simply because I didn’t want to seem like a boring old fart.  I wasn’t confident enough to be my un-hip, authentic self.  Instead I was just excruciatingly embarrassing.  What a trade. 

At least this year of living authentically is bringing more awareness to my days.  It’s surprising how the little itty-bitty daily challenges are the ones that trip me up most.  The big stuff you can’t really miss, there are signposts you see miles in advance and so go in prepared, battle-ready.  But the little stuff, that’s more tricky, a minefield you sometimes don’t notice until you’re standing in the middle of it.  Because the little stuff is really the big stuff, it’s absolutely key to authenticity.  Every seemingly inconsequential compromise to being true to myself erodes a little more confidence.  And I need every molecule of confidence I can conjure up to do this.   

If you’re anything like me, a lifetime of trying to fit in and not stand out has blurred the edges so much that it’s sometimes hard to distinguish who the ‘real you’ is.  It requires living consciously, not reverting to default setting behaviour, and that level of awareness can be hard work.  But it’s worth it because I’ve noticed a chicken/egg scenario happening:  while it takes confidence to be authentic, being authentic also gives you confidence.

 

 

The World as a Wonder Emporium

/ frankiegolightly

Last night I was flicking through TV channels and came across the film ‘Mr Magorium’s Wonder Emporium’.  I’ve never seen it in its entirety, but twice now I’ve happened upon it at precisely the moment that Dustin Hoffmann’s character – I assume the eponymous Mr Magorium – says “Life is an occasion.  Rise to it.”  I’m choosing to think it serendipitous, that twice I’ve tuned in just in time to hear those words exactly when I needed a shot of inspiration.  To paraphrase Albert Einstein, we can choose to live as though nothing is a miracle, or as though everything is.  Sometimes we forget just how miraculous being alive in the 21st century can be.  The technology that allows me to write this and for you read it instantaneously anywhere in the world is a perfect example, if we are prepared to be amazed.  It can be hard to hold a sense of wonder as we get bogged down in our days, taking so much for granted.  But life is much more interesting when we look at it as though we are living in a Wonder Emporium.  So let’s grasp onto reminders whenever and however they may come.  Sometimes the magic of storytelling reminds us to treasure the magic of life (and I don’t mind a little Hollywood manipulation if it leaves me feeling a little lighter spirited).  I imagine that’s the analogy of the whole film, and next time I see it in the schedule I plan to watch it all.  In the meantime, I intend to put those words on my mirror to remind myself.

Life is an occasion.  Rise to it.

Good Morning, Good Morning To You

/ frankiegolightly

“Finish each day and be done with it.

You have done what you could; some blunders and absurdities have crept in;

forget them as soon as you can.

Tomorrow is a new day; you shall begin it serenely and with too high a spirit

to be encumbered with your old nonsense.”

 — Ralph Waldo Emerson

 

My Dad wakes up happy.  It can be very annoying.  As the day wears on he can descend into his typical grumpy old man persona, but even when he’s sick, crippled by arthritis and it’s a struggle to get out of bed he still does so in a good mood.

It has always been this way and I think it must be a genetic disposition.  My sister is the same whereas, in this instance at least, I take after my mother.  Growing up, Dad and Sis would be whistling around the kitchen of a morning, cracking eggs and jokes, banging pans, while my mum and I would sit at the table nursing a coffee and slice of toast throwing dagger looks at them and wondering why they couldn’t keep the noise down.

Even though I now love mornings, it still takes me a while to warm up to the day.  I love the feeling of being outside before the rest of the world wakes; there is a different quality to the air around dawn that speaks to possibility and potential in the day ahead.  But  I still don’t wake up jumping out of bed bursting with energy.  One of the reasons I enjoy being an early riser is that it generally gives me space and quiet to ease myself into the day, all I require is a little solitude to set me up.  Let me wake up at my own pace and I’m happy.

I wouldn’t swap places with either my Dad or my Sis, I would say that overall I’m a happier and more optimistic person than either of them.  But in a way I envy their start to the day:  as if the night has truly washed away their troubles and worries and they can greet the day completely anew, fresh and unencumbered by any old nonsense.