Wild and free.

I’ve struggled a lot with the transition between “being away” and “being back.” Here and there. Back and forth. The difference between days spent wandering white sand beaches blissfully disconnected from expectations and those laced in routine and demand. Which one provided more meaning. Which one offered a version of my true self.

It’s a struggle I dip in and out of. When my current path is paved with achievements and fulfilment, that struggle drifts away. I am present and so very at peace with this life I have built.

And yet other times that question mark seems to trace its silhouette back in glaring focus. All too quickly the walls around me shoot further and further up, encasing me in panic and confusion. When life takes an unexpected turn I wasn’t quite prepared for. When mindful living trips into monotony.

It’s coming up to a year since I’ve been home. And for a while now I’ve stayed on the lighter side of the gate. I’ve been able to embrace the beautiful relationships “being back” has brought me and feel true joy in the simple pleasures of time spent in my hometown. I wake up inspired by what my work day may hold and excited about the places the next few months will take me.

Because, maybe, I can still find that wild freedom that made me feel so alive in that sacred time “being away”?

Maybe, being wild and free doesn’t have to be jumping out of planes and diving into the ocean depths?

Maybe, being wild and free doesn’t have to be endless evenings spent beer in hand dancing under the stars?

Maybe, being wild and free doesn’t have to be snap decisions to fly to a destination of your choice with nothing but your backpack and a sense of adventure?

I’m beginning to wonder whether being wild and free can also grow in the thrill of throwing yourself headfirst into something new, simply because. Of giving it your all, regardless of the end result. Or perhaps it’s there when you push away the barriers and let another in. When you don’t even think about the risk, weighing up the pros and cons, holding yourself back because it’s “easier that way.” Letting time and life do their thing and see where it takes you, for the better or worse. Could it be trusting the process? Is it learning to love yourself in a way that means everything makes sense, just a little more?

What if it’s saying yes rather than no?

What if it’s saying goodbye to fear, in every aspect of life?

The pang of what else is out there will forever walk beside me. Curiosity follows in my shadow… and that’s okay. Thirst for life and living the hell out of it is a quality I never want to let go of.

But doing that? Embracing that quality?

It exists within me, in every moment regardless of where or how that moment comes into light.

It’s here. And it always will be.

“The best thing you can possibly do with your life is to tackle the motherfucking shit out of it.” – Cheryl Strayed.

Thinking out loud #2

The big cup of coffee in bed every morning. The cold beer sitting on the terrace. The taste of mango, avocado and tomatoes on olive bread and the reassuring feel of pen to paper as  I pour my world out to you, drip by drip. These are the things that make me feel at home. These are the moments I can simply be. And whilst worry has crept back trying to steer me out of this path of joy into one of safety, I’ve fought back. Told the dark force that, this time, it won’t win. I will. From now on.

“Because in the end, you won’t remember the time you spent working in the office or mowing your lawn. Climb that goddamn mountain.”

Letting go of the shackles. Putting myself in the face of excitement.

Trusting the process. Trusting it all.

Are you truly awake?

I received a text from a friend today who I travelled with across Australia and South East Asia. He’d watched a programme about a South Korean Buddhist monk and messaged to tell me it reminded him of a conversation we had shared in Cairns.

I remembered it so clearly. Remembered all the conversations so very clearly. Everything from the in depth talks about life and its many intricacies over a tall pint of beer right through to the nights spent under the stars delving into spiritual teachings.

We were so in tune with our own thoughts and innermost questions. Our hearts open, gapingly even, to drink in with a wild desire every new piece of information and inspiration.

Our world was a puzzle, and we felt so very blessed to find those pieces and figure out quite how they slotted together.

My kindle was heavy with readings from Deepak Chopra, Baron Baptiste and Thich Nhat Hanh. Their words gave me the strength to forgive my Mother. And even now, after an attempt to rebuild those bridges and coming to realise they are too broken to repair, their teachings have provided me with the love to accept this truth and live with it.

At that time, I felt full and… I guess, awake?

Awake. That’s it.

So why is it that since returning to “ordinary” life, it has has it been so hard for me to open my eyes?

It took me a long time to understand that I could not (and should not) rest my happiness and self worth on a location. I felt guilty for returning to my home town after so many years away. As if I had taken a step back into a past I wanted to forget and was foolishly leaving behind a life I had only ever dreamt of.

Regret walked with me like a shadow, anxiety my second heart beat. “Itchy feet” didn’t even hint at the intense emotions running from my head to my toes pushing me to pick up that passport once again.

Everything was boring. Everything was dull.

Where was the beauty? Where was the discovery?

I blamed this lack of stimulation and overwhelming sense of monotony on my own inability to connect with that girl I had become those few months ago.

Or, rather, the girl I had allowed myself to be.

I no longer felt full and in a state of mindfulness. Far from it, really.

The only time I stepped back into that beautiful state of being was when I placed myself on the mat. My practice would be transcendent, my mind at peace and hungry for my teachers simple but deeply affecting words.

Until recently. Until I gave myself the permission to take my teachers words away from the mat and into my life.

It sounds silly, doesn’t it? An obvious concept.

And yet something had been stopping me from taking them out of my safe haven into my “real world.”

When my teacher returned from a retreat in India back to Shirley, we were of course all bursting with questions for him. His answers were full of joy but very calm, collected.

“Whether you are somewhere exotic and beautiful like India or back in quiet Shirley, it doesn’t matter really, does it? Those things, they’re just external. They’re temporary. The only constant is yourself. And that is the only place you can truly gain fulfilment.”

*the penny drops*

Isn’t it the oddest thing when someone puts into words exactly what you have been searching for all along?

And now I feel as if I have accepted and welcomed that… now I once again want to commit to living in a mindful existence.

There are many ways I hope to do this. My daily yoga practice. Exploring Buddhist groups in the community. Going back to my readings.

Living, loving, learning.

Maybe this blog can help me chronicle them. Give me a space to be and reflect.

I want to allow myself to be that girl who held herself as a blank canvas and lived every moment as it was supposed to be lived.

Fully.

Consciously.

Awake.

It doesn’t matter whether I am doing that amidst a Balinese sacred site, a remote island or the comfort of my humble flat in Southampton.

None of those things define who I am or what I want to be.

That? That can only come from myself.

Thinking out loud #1

An unexpected sunny Sunday, my scrawny arms relishing in that familiar kiss. A week of work achievements, of knowing I’ve found my “thing”. The reassuring nod, the gentle smile. Another week stepping back onto the uncomfortable, sometimes painful conveyor belt, rushing full throttle back into the past. But it’s okay. It’s all okay. The tenth paper envelope at the door, your familiar drawings scrawled on the front. One day I’ll scrawl them onto my skin, a story inked across my own canvas forever more. The music you recommended has echoed around the flat ever since.
“And a lion, a lion roars would you not listen?
If a child, a child cries would you not forgive them?”

A transcendent yoga class. Laughter on the sofa. My sister’s smile.

Everything. Nothing. All the colours in between.

Spring.

There’s something about Spring.

Something about the crispness in the air that seems to dust away the cobwebs.

The brightness of the daffodils that leave a lick of paint against the harsh black walls.

As March opens its doors we start to bid our goodbyes to the season passed. Turn away from that period of dark mornings and even darker nights.

Say hello to the promise of warmth. The promise of new life.

The change, oh so needed. The fresh start, oh so necessary.

There’s something about Spring. And it’s here to take me away.

Sailing through the Whitsundays.

We wanted the world

every last inch of it

wanted the azure waters

with its curls of

pure white sand

and the sunrises and sunsets

that seemed to fall off

the edge of the earth

 

we wanted our own

secret paradise

swept away from reality

every moment

an adventure

a gift waiting to unfold

 

for three days

we sailed through

our personal nirvana

followed turtles

as they left their mark

before disappearing into

the unknown

 

we watched dolphins

at night

as they danced through

the gentlest of waves

 

ran across

quiet islands

climbed to their

intoxicating hideaways

before surrendering

to the ocean

letting ourselves slip

into its delicious embrace

 

and yet

for every sight

every taste of the sea

and every touch of the sun

there is one moment

that truly carved its tale

across my heart

 

the moment

I took your hand

and together

we fell into the most

enchanting of skies

 

hypnotised

by the blanket of black

painted with

the milky way

 

silently engulfed

 

silently in love

 

silently at one

 

and as the stars fell

like raindrops

leaving patterns across

our skin

we knew we would never forget

the moment

the world was ours.