Euro Holiday

Just over a week ago, a friend here told me it would cost the same amount to fly to LA as it would to Paris for thanksgiving. On Monday we booked our tickets, and today I fly to Paris.

It's been a long long dream of mind to go to Europe - especially Paris, and I'd always been waiting to do it properly - as in for a long period of time. But stuff it. 4 days will have to do.

Sooooo excited!

Brunch for One

This morning I hastened to leave Anya's as I picked up my bag that I'd left there the night before. While I love her company, and her sun soaked apartment with potatoes boiling on the stove, and gossip girl playing in the background, I still yearned to be somewhere... dining by myself.

Ten minutes later, in a wooded restaurant around the corner, I sit at the bar awash with Miles Davis. A lady beside me spreads her paper and ordered eggs, a lady behind me takes out her novel and sips her coffee. Brunch for one all round please.

Outside the crisp cool air reminds me of those sunny but cold Toowoomba days. My coat is on the back of my chair, my scarf still around my neck. I feel very lucky. The change of season can only truly be embraced once you stop and observe it -  preferably quietly, over a cup of tea and a plate of eggs benedict.

Photo credit: My Cup of Tea

Dad Joke

When talking to my father about Ada's incontinence problem, he said "Well, I guess shit happens."
Long pause while he laughs at his own joke.

I Love You (An Awkward Family Moment)

The first time I recall my father ever saying the words “I love you” to us kids was when I was 14 and my brother was J-Rad 12. We were driving back from a Church on a Sunday night (our family liked to "dabble" in Christianity for curiosity’s sake) and were discussing weather we agreed with tonight’s service or not. After a comfortable silence, Dad glanced back at us and said matter-of-factly: “Kids, I love you.” This segued nicely into a very uncomfortable silence. So he continued - “I know we never say it to each other, but we should be able to, and I’d like to hear you say it back.”

J-Rad and I had frozen - stupefied in the back seat. It’s not that we didn’t know he loved us it’s just, as he said, we had never been in the habit of expressing it this way. Maybe you come from a family like that. Or maybe your family is not very affectionate or has other quirks and rituals. Each to their own really. Love is more about actions than it is about words, so saying them out loud felt unnecessary. Like being hit over the head with a giant fish. 

I remember in that moment feeling a mixture of both pleasant surprise and severe nausea. The same feelings one gets when watching an episode Seventh Heaven. Finally I made the first move, and muttered quickly: “I love you too.” It was weird, and I was relieved to have it over and done with. J-Rad just sat there refusing to say it - likely contemplating a jump and roll from our moving vehicle. “No I’m not saying it!” he said.

In the years that followed that awkward conversation, both my Dad and my Step-Mum continued to say it every now and again. We noticed the ease with which our step-siblings would return the words – even initiating it at the end of their phone conversations. 

Gradually it became a more natural way to articulate the love we felt, without needing to gag. I even tried it out on Mum and her side of the family, who would freeze, not knowing what to say back. “Rito, yes, bye – uh, you too,” Nanny would say - taken by surprise if I used it on the phone.

A few months ago, I received a letter from Nanny in the mail telling me about J-Rad’s new job offer in Sydney:

The last thing J-Rad said to me when he brought his things here from his unit … [he was going traveling]. He kissed me and gave me a hug and said he loved me. How lucky I am to have a grandson like him and a granddaughter like you. We are so blessed.

It made my eyes water reading it. For a family who rarely knew how to verbalize love so freely, we are all doing a grand job of it now. I’m grateful to Dad for his courageousness in opening that door to us as teens, and the persistence it took to change our families habits. We certainly don't over use it. But we can say it when we want to, without feeling too weird.

So there it is dearest fam. I love you.

photo credits:Aurigid meterorite #2 Ice cased Adelie Pengins The future is bright

Fashion's Night Out #2

Is it too late to blog about Fashion’s Night Out?... Good.

It was pretty rad - and not because of the fashion, but because there was a man in the Louis Vitton store window licking a LV handbag - slowly and sensually.

It was 10pm when I got there, and I watched him for a good ten minutes. Had he been licking the handbag since 7pm? I wish I’d arrived there earlier!

The rest of the night was really just an insane battling of crowds. EXCEPT for Sarah Silverman's performance at the Mac Makeup store in Soho at 8pm. It was worth the wait (I lined up for over an hour). She signed a free copy of her awesome book The Bedwetter, and also sang a song where the only lyric in the refrain was ‘cunt.’ Bless her!

Here's some more pics:

 Manic crowds outside Bergdorf Goodman

Dolls of designers at Barney's

If you could get inside the LV store, men were dancing on the staircase. 

Desert!

It was a good night, but a little overwhelming to try and plan. With a gazillion celebrities and at least an hours wait to see just one, you really have to chose your favorite and be satisfied with that. By 9:30pm most of the free drinks have dried up and the crowds on the streets are a nightmare. But it's kind of awesome to have this kind of crazed atmosphere that doesn't revolve around a sporting event. Go fashion!

Poor Harry

My mum’s a vegan. She’s turned my step-dad vegan and more recently his adorable collie-dog, Harry vegan as well.

I remember when she told me over the phone one day “Harry’s a vegan now.” She was thrilled. I thought about this for a moment, and wanted to say - “Well is Harry really a vegan? Or is he being forced into it? Like did you convince him to turn or was it like - eat vegetables and rice, or starve.” The ironic thing is, when I ask mum why she’s a vegan, (apart from the environmental impact) it’s mainly because she doesn’t like to be cruel to animals. 

Cocktails and Suicide

Last month I caught up with an old friend (Pat) at a rooftop bar over cocktails and… a suicide.

(new rooftop bar in Hell's Kitchen)

Pat and I had met eight years ago in our early twenties, teaching English in China. She was mourning the death of a close friend in a drowning accident, and I was mourning the completion of a three year business degree that I had no desire to use. There we found ourselves working for a dodgy Chinaman, eating boiled chicken’s feet and being treated like celebrities, all because of the colour of our skin. When we try and tell other about the craziness that goes on in China, they don't seem to care.

“I forget I can talk to you about this stuff,” Pat said. I sipped my martini staring out at the lights of Manhattan and thinking about skinned goats, when a large dark object fell from above and over the edge of the deck. It was about the size of a miniature grand piano, which I vainly hoped it was, but when people rushed over to the edge of the glass, they confirmed it was a person.

We were too short to see over the ledge, but the tall guy next to us said they had landed on the road in front of a cab – that had stopped just in time.  People across the road were frozen in their tracks. Most got on their phones to call 911, and within two minutes we could hear and see sirens heading towards the hotel. On the rooftop, we all became instant buddies bonded by tragedy. We talked to one another about what we’d seen, and made facial expressions that read “eeek” and “how sad.”

The horrible thing was, when we looked up, we could clearly see where they would have jumped from. The penthouse was only one floor above, and set about 5 meters back, overlooking all the action in the bar. How long had they stood up there? How terrible that no one had seen them. Also, how did they propel them selves far enough to clear the bar area?

After a while my morbid curiosity won out against my fear of gore, and I asked one of the staff members near me if I could stand on the chair to have a  look at the body.

“No. You’re not allowed,” he said, moving the chair away. Fair enough.

We waited before going downstairs, where staff ushered us out the side door. Police tape now surrounded the hotel, and in the distance flashing lights reflected off the white sheet that covered the body.

***

Later that night, in a different borough and after many a bar / much saki / vodka from teacups and random acts of dancing, we remembered the roof-top.

“You know 16 floors is not very high,” said Pat. “If  you’re going to go, why not go skydiving and just not pull the shoot. That’s what I’d do.” 

That was not a lie. Pat is a living poster child for a Pepsi-max commercial. As long as I’ve known her, she has always lived life "to the max." She's practically a full-time snowboarder, and since China she’s: studied film, been married, divorced, lived in Canada, NewZealand and Paris, and she’s younger than me. Currently she has a crush on her tattoo artist who designed a giant quill feather dripping in ink that spans her right rib cage and ends at her pelvic bone. (It actually looks rather elegant.)

Even that night, in the sushi restaurant which was empty and dead, she’d pointed to every single picture on the menu page and ordered one of each.

“I love picture menus!” she exclaimed, pointing to a picture of a saki flask. 

It seems kind-of ironic that I took a someone so full of life to bar where another person decided to end theirs.  But I'm glad I was with her, as we were able to turn the night around. Next year she plans to move  here to study again. This time - jewellery design.

Boom!

Guess who’s never buying another handbag again… in her life.

Regardless that it was on sale, it still feels ridiculously expensive. So much so, that I’m embarrassed that I bought it. But obviously not embarrassed enough not to blog about it. Hmmm. Perhaps because if you know how long and far I’ve looked for a bag, you’d see why I either had to buy it, or cut off my left ear to keep sane.

Feelings post purchase:

-       Guilt.  What about the starving people in the world who would kill to eat a good looking handbag like this. Why don’t I do the right thing and send it to them? But seriously, valuing this over important things like health insurance cannot be wise.

-       Delight! It looks and feels good, and I know it will last. Investment piece!

-       Dissonance. Of course it’s not perfect. I would have liked it to have segments inside, a thicker shoulder strap - and more compartments all round. (I can feel a rant coming.)

-       Sick... to my stomach, when lying in bed that night. I could have bought 3 Broadway tickets for Ada's nurses instead of this handbag. Selfish, selfish selfish!

-       Stress. After the water-proof spray was applied, the color looked like a burnt orange, rather than tan.

-       Relief. The next morning two ladies at the hairdresser, hair dye still in hair, got out of their chairs, bent down and worshipped my bag. The outside validation helped.

I do realize that when it comes to shopping, I am my own worst enemy and need to chillax.

I did have some help finding this bag. I emailed the lovely Jane Flanagan at the wonderful blog: ill seen, ill said -because I had a great bag on her website. She was very helpful in recommended a tonne of bags and where to find them – including the one I just bought. (Thanks Jane!)

Thoughts on Evil

For the longest possible time (until I was 26) I didn’t believe in evil. I thought that all people were essentially good on the inside, and reasons for evil in the world were due to people reacting badly to their circumstances and making bad choices. Essentially I believed they could all be ‘helped’ and even ‘healed.’ After all, no body wants to grow up to be a child molester or serial killer… do they? *

In 2006 – out of nowhere, I somehow realized that evil exists in varying degrees within all of us. There was no single event that changed my perspective on this, just a gradual understanding that was quite shocking at the time, which is why I remember the year. Perhaps it was because I had also observed that sometimes people don’t change, no matter how hard they try. (Another devastating blow to my beliefs.) 

You cannot deny that to a certain extent we all have some hard wiring within us, and that some people are simply born with a large heart, a wicked streak or a sense of humour. That’s not to say that nurture doesn’t have any impact or that people can’t change. It definitely does, and they definitely do. But that year, I could no longer ignore the fact, that human beings are capable of being malicious – continually, despite their intentions and even despite other good actions.

I recently found this quote which illustrates my thoughts exactly:

How else can you explain the history of the world?

For an interesting read on this topic and the powers of ‘group think’, check out the Stanford Prison Experiment.

Scary - although not completely surprising.

I feel fortunate that I've had no direct reason to ever really believe in evil, and I hope this post is not a downer. I just think that by acknowledging human nature's true capabilities to myself, that I am better armed to make choices and to question decisions that will contribute to the future history of the world.

(Actually, in the case of pedophilia, Oprah has proven it’s a mental illness people suffer -which is why they will always re-offend, again and again and again.)

Trippin on Natural Causes

I’ve never been around someone on acid or mushrooms, but I can imagine it would be similar to being around my great-aunt Ada this week. Every now and then, she hallucinates very vividly. This time her ‘trip’ lasted three whole days.

 “Oh! Someone else is here!” She exclaimed looking at the blanc space in front of the the door.

“Who?” we asked.

“There is somebody here!” she insisted, and then turned to the left and started clawing at something in the air beside her. “What is this? What is it?” she kept saying.

It didn’t bother me. I felt like it was just her brain giving these messages to her eyes. But her night nurse T gave me a knowing look, and said “She’s been calling out for the dead, you know. Looking for her Mother,  her sister and her husband, and seeing a little girl,” which is apparently common for the elderly to do.
“They are coming for her, you know.”

All of Ada’s Caribbean aids believe in, and have a bit of an unexplained psychic ability. Jean, her day nurse sometimes tells me how she was at home in Brooklyn when she knew something bad had happened to Ada so came around early – it turned out Ada had had a stroke. T’s sister (a more specific psychic) will call and tell her when people they know of have died - before anyone else knows.

During the rare occasions that Ada hallucinates, she doesn’t sleep. Her eyes may roll back, or dart back and forth when she rests, but she continues to move and babble in a mixture of Polish and English, cycling through different moods and emotions. It’s like she is possessed.

One night she got up and shuffled out whaling and sobbing “No! Don’t, please! No! They are coming. Ahhh!” It was very dramatic, like she was in a stage play doing a torture scene. On the third night, she finally collapsed in into sleep, one arm hanging off the edge of the bed, like she had passed out drunk, her body occasionally twitching with nervous impulses. We dared not move her, lest we wake her up again.

It seems the kinder thing to do when she gets like this, would be to give her a couple of valium after the first day. Id’ asked her psychiatrist previously about this, but she had wanted to increase the amount of anti-psychotic pills she takes, which only seem to take effect after a few days – and then they turn Ada into a dopey, sleepy mess who forgets how to walk and talk.

It feels like the process of growing old and dying in her case, is a long drawn out and laborious one. A natural phenomena that is not entirely unlike the process of being borne into the world.  I do sometimes wonder though, if Ada should have had that heart surgery years earlier, or if the tens of pills we give her every day are prolonging her life against natures will.

Week in Review #2

This week…

• I got caught masturbating by 'T' – Ada's night nurse.
• Caught a cold. 
• Saw Ray Lamontagne and David Grey in concert. 

• Listened to “Dog Days Are Over” by Florence + The Machine -  63 times
• Went on my never ending search for the perfect handbag. (Have you seen it? It’s tan, good quality leather, costs less than a house, but fits a house inside... shoulder strap... many compartments… I could go on.)

• Realized that I look for men like I look for handbags, so I could be looking for quite a while.
• Finished “The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo.” Loved it.
• Watched two people kissing for over half an hour at a bar. Told all the guys I was with to take note because “This is how you kiss a girl!” then when they stood up, we realized they were two girls. Figures.

• Saw Eat Pray Love – and it was exactly how I thought it would be. Also I bought stuff from the set sale, and wanted to see if any of it was featured in the film. (a teacup was.)
• Lay in bed next to Ada until 4pm on Sat! But got over my cold.
• Thought for the millionth time – what am I doing with my life?
• Hand washed those delicates I’ve been meaning to get to for 3 weeks.
• Enrolled in an improv class that’s out of my league.
• Indulged my addiction to Hibiscus tea.
• Got bullied into getting a Brazilian wax when all I wanted was a bikini. It was painful, but it’s been a while.

What I learned?

When you condense a week into a list it sounds cooler and more productive than it felt when you lived it.

Buried Treasure

I once met someone, who lost her mother to cancer when she was young.  Her father loved her mother so much, that when it came time to bury her, he couldn’t remove any of her jewelry. In fact, he buried her with all the jewelry he had ever given her. So my friend never got to inherit what could have been some very special accessories. It’s kind of sad and a waste, but it’s also very very sweet, and if you’re a romantic like me, it’s the stuff of fairytales. It just intrigues me that somewhere buried under the earth is some beautiful jewelry that may never see the light of day again.

Buried Adventures

(Australian bush)

Buried beneath a tree, in a small suburban park in Middle Ridge, Toowoomba, lies a tin can sealed with glad-wrap. (Unless it has been unearthed and thrown away). And inside this can, is a golf ball and a piece of paper with the details of an “adventure” that my best friend Lindsay White and I had, one weekend when we were ten.

In reality, our “adventures” were lame forest explorations followed by some mild trespassing, but at the time they were heart stopping, adrenalin-pumping voyages into the unknown. We'd explore the unchartered bush at the top of The Great Dividing Range, and name important landmarks after ourselves, then follow the pony trail until it was time to trespass.  

We'd sneak through stranger's yards using stealth like moves - like running, and hiding and stuff, until we could make it to the safety of the road. We thought if we were caught, we'd probably go to jail, because people would think we were "robbers" and trespassing was illegal.

The day we buried the time capsual, we found a golf ball in our travels and decided to document our adventure so that many years into the future, someone would  discover the tin and learn something about our culture.

I'd picture them, post apocalypse, saying "How did they do it? A ball with perfect little dimples. The ancient people of Toowoomba were a sophisticated race." And then "Honey, did you know that stream down the road is actually called the Lind-ally River?"

For two years that followed we kept returning to the park to make sure the tin was still there. Then I moved away and Lindsay and I went to separate high-schools and sadly lost touch. But I know where the park is and I think I can still picture the exact tree where it's buried. One day, perhaps in our 80's, I'll go visit Lindsay who lives in Toowoomba and we’ll walk the streets we used to roam as kids, go back to that tree, and start digging to check if it's still there. 

New Yorkba

It seems like where ever I go these days, I run into someone I know. “Well then move the hell out of Toowoomba!” I hear you say. Well I did, and now I’m in one of the most densely populated places in the world (if you don’t count all of Asia, and many other cities around the world), and I expect to feel anonymous, and not worry about being a big daggy tourist when you have a bunch of Aussie girl-friends come visit. Yeaaaah! Which is where I’ve been of late. (There, and also being absolutely cained at work.)

NYC certainly turned on it's charm for the Brissy ladies. Thanks to the genius website – onlocations vacations (thanks Liz!), we snuck into the premier party of a new Kevin Klien movie, which also stars Katie Holmes and John C. Reilly (only Kevin showed up.)

Here’s the trick to getting past the door girls on the carpet with the list: Get there early. Too early for them to have their list out.  Then simply walk past them like you’re part of it all. We were lucky and because we weren’t even expecting to get in, our night just kept getting better.

“How much are the cocktails?” I asked, eyeing the list as we casually approached the bar.

“Why, they’re complimentary.” said the bar man, turning a blind eye to our poka-tourist faces.

“We’ll take 5.”

And really, that’s how the night went on. We gave our selves fake job titles in production, in case anyone asked (which makes no sense, seeing as we all work in post,) and for some reason the waitresses just loved us. The head wait-lady kept coming up to our table, which at all times had two full martini glasses in-front of each girl, to ask if we’d like another. She even gave us a round of absinth cocktails.

Needless to say, we got trashed, and the food kept coming, and we got our photos taken by papratzi, met Magda (Mirnda’s nurse from Sex and the City, who called us a table of hot ladies), saw a runner up from America’s next top model, and one of us – who’s favourite movie is Life As a House, managed to touch Kevin Kline’s jacket.

All of this - on their first night here, and the next day was even more New York! We got to see rats in the subway – and a squirrel in the park! 

Then on the girl's last day, we saw Justin Timberlake walking down 5^th Ave, as he filmed his new movie - Friends With Benefits. 

It was cool, but he had nothing compared to the appeal of squirrels. 

God – those squirrels! How do they move so quick?! And what’s with the long bushy tails! Why are they so rad?

We had a lot of fun, and I’m exhausted, but I can’t stop going out. They've given me summer fever, and the world is shrinking every day. 

I remember watching SATC and thinking - that's such crap that people can just run into people they know like that on the street. And then one of my Brissy girls -  while strolling through the West Village, ran into a boy she kissed on a dance floor in the East Village, 2 nights prior. Rock on Yorkvegas! 

Squirrels! 

J.Crew Tail

Today I popped into J.Crew after a manic day at work, hoping to find something/anything that would fit the "casual chic" dress code of a film soirée tomorrow night. (work thing.)

It was only ten minutes before close, and once inside, the door man came up to me with an apologetic face. I stopped him and said: "I know, I know - you guys close in 10 minutes - I'll be quick!"
"No mam," he said hesitantly. "There's toilet paper coming out your pants."

I prayed it was just stuck to the bottom of my shoe, but when I turned around I saw a good foot and a half of it hanging out the top of my skinny black pants like a long tail. (!!?!)

I quickly stuffed it in my handbag, like that was a perfectly normal place to put toilet paper.
"Thank you," I managed in a surprisingly dignified voice, as I continued to browse the racks.

I had just walked two blocks down Fifth Avenue and crossed at the lights to get here. As my dear friend  Liz would call it - Fashion Road-kill.

Ada Update

I haven’t written about Ada for some time now. Towards the end of last year, I read a book called The 36hr Day, about dementia and it changed everything; how I view her, how I talked to her, how I listen and respond.

I no longer fear her. I now understand that when your brain is clogged with plaque, you often feel scared and confused and frustrated as all hell.  And when you’re trying to express or rationalise that, it can come out all wrong.

When she yells “You are the devil! This is mine! I hate everything! I have nothing!” I hold her, and I say “I know. I understand. I know you don’t feel like you used to.” Or her favourite; “I know you don’t belong here.” And she’s often so grateful that someone ‘gets her’, instead of arguing, that she gets teary and hugs me.

This morning I went in and lay with Ada. (I do this when I want a sleep in, and her nurse is up). She turned to me and said “I can’t learn anything new.” It was a moment of clarity, like when someone from a foreign country says “I don’t speak English well,” but they say it in perfect English, which makes you momentarily doubt what they’re saying.

Sibling Safezone

My younger brother, J-Rad and I may have hated each other during the day growing up, but at night we had a truce. We would sneak into each other’s rooms and wake each other up when we were too scared to go to the bathroom alone.

No matter how hard we hit each other that evening, after ‘lights out’ we were a team, and our parents knew nothing about it.

Thanks to the cup of warm juice that Mum gave us religiously before bed, in the wee hours of the morning, one of us would bolt terrified into the other’s room, and shake them with - ‘Can you come to the toilet with me?’ The other would rise, without complaint, happy to provide this reciprocal service.

J-Rad was afraid of large mountain bears. I was afraid of ghosts. Our job was to stand guard outside the closed toilet door, because we both knew bears and ghosts only preyed on those who peed alone.

Before J-Rad was old enough to escort me to the toilet, I used to pee the bed. (In my defense, we lived in an old farm house, and the toilet was a long way away.)  I remember thinking: I really need to pee, but there’s just no fucking way I’m getting out of bed – or ghosts will get me!

In the mornings when my parents asked what had happened, I’d tell them I must have gone in my sleep. So they implemented a chart with colored stars, and I’d get a gold one if my sheets were dry. When that didn’t work, Dad gave me acupuncture.

Only now does it strike me as odd that a six year old child, would be more afraid of telling her parents her fears, than getting stuck with hundreds of tiny needles three times a week.

J-Rad and I continued our nightly ritual for more years than we’d like to admit. Then gradually we outgrew our monsters, and our need to wake each other up.

When I think about our sibling relationship, this story kind of sums us up... because even thought we knew our fears were completely irrational (there are no bears in Australia and neither had ever seen a ghost), on a deeper level we cared enough to respect each other’s inner demons. 

And we still do.

The Other Woman Speaks Out on Oprah

(From the Oprah Show)

Last night The Oprah Show interviewed three former married men’s mistresses, and one who is still in a relationship with a married man. (Link to interview)

Below are my take-aways.  I’m hoping they will spare me from wasting time thinking about lost causes in the future, because these lessons seem to apply to any kind of relationship:

1)  You will never get the time back that you spent on someone who in reality keeps you in second place. (Ouch. This was the biggest regret from the women interviewed.)

2)  All the men made these women feel special, and made extensive plans with them for a future together, even though they never left their wives.

3) You wouldn’t go out to a bar looking for someone who would only give you 30% of their time / love / attention, would you? (Or would you?)

4)  If you’re dating a man who is cheating on their wife, who’s to say they are not going to cheat on you. (It’s very common for mistresses to be cheated on.)

I’ve written pages and pages in my diary about my thoughts on cheating because sometimes I feel conflicted about the topic. It’s become far too common for it to be so black and white, so I'm hoping to gain some more clarity in the future. Seeing this show has certainly helped.

All I Want is to be Inspired

View from the Brooklyn Bridge of lower Manhattan

Actually to be inspired is all I've ever wanted. Definitely my drug of choice.

Right now, this website is doing it for me:
http://www.gapingvoidgallery.com/index.php?cPath=21_28

And this guy (20min talk... will make your eyes shine!):
http://www.ted.com/talks/benjamin_zander_on_music_and_passion.html

And this song:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DO-kspkCp5U&feature=related

Also these songs:
http://www.youtube.com/watch#!v=tjecYugTbIQ&a=Au3gdAXdu1g&playnext_from=ML
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qBJyTMjJIiQ

....and I'm still hungry for more. What inspires you? Do share.

How To Live Before You Die by Steve Jobs

View of Chicago, 2007

Living with Ada has definitely made me think about death and the importance of savoring life for the short time that we are here.  I'm wanting with all my heart to subscribe to Steve Job's philosophy on life. To me, this sounds like freedom. 

Steve Jobs: How to live before you die | Video on TED.com

Here are some of my favorite parts:

“For the past 33 years I’ve looked in the mirror and asked myself, if today was the last day of my life, would I want to do, what I’m about to do today. And whenever the answer has been no for too many days in a row, I know I need to change something.”

“Remembering that I’ll be dead soon, is the most important tool I’ve ever encountered to help me make the big choices in life. Because almost everything. All every external pressure and pride, all fear of embarrassment of failure, these things just fall away in the face of death. Leaving only what is truly important. Remembering you are going to die is the best way to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked. There is no reason not to follow your heart.”

[My friend Chelsea was considering getting a tattoo that means “remember, you must die.” I think she should go for it.]

“No one wants to die… and yet death is the destination we all share… Your time is limited, so don’t waste it living someone else’s life. Don’t be trapped by dogma, which is living with the results of other people’s thinking. Don’t let the noise of other people’s opinions drown out your own inner voice, and most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary.”


I feel kind of old to be learning this lesson, but I guess never late than never.

Inspired

To the Light by Rose Hardy

I’ve become completely obsessed with photographer and famous Flikreite Rosey Hardy, pictured above.  Her account features mainly self portraits, and candid comments about her life under each picture. (I very much hope she doesn't mind me posting these here. I'm a bit of a late comer to her work by internet standards, but art is timeless and her account is definitely worth a look, and her website too.)

Trapped in Our Own Fairytale by Rosie Hardy

 by Rosie Hardy 

She took the majority of these photos while in her senior year of highschool, after hours. Equally as fascinating is the real life love story that plays out through her writing and comments when she falls in love and eventually meets another incredible flicker member (pictured above) on the other side of the world. I recommend starting at the beginning on p18 and working backwards to the present.

Boundaries by Rosie Hardy

For some reason the above picture really resonates with me. I have no idea why, but it expresses the way I often feel inside. Thank you Rosey for sharing!

Should I Erase You?

Here is a photo I took of my ex-boyfriend with the sun behind his head, on a trip to New York 4 years ago. It was meant to be beautifully backlit, like the one he took of me, but when it was my turn, I accidentally erased his head with natural flare. (no pun intended) 

I remember feeling guilty - like he might think I had done it on purpose, but he found it funny.

I'm having a hard time culling my photo library (and my music library.) It feels weird to have so many photos of an old life with him every time I open iphoto. Should I back them up, and delete them like he never existed? Like couples do on Facebook? Am I being a hoarder? What's the best thing to do here?

I suppose I can at least keep this one.