.knotted mess.

It trips me out that each person has a story. A story with joy and sadness, love and loss, calm and storms. A story that has led them to where they are now, to their current level of mess. We all have mess, we’re all screwed up, we just all have different levels of screwed-up-ness and mess surrounding us.

Being screwed up isn’t wrong, it isn’t bad, it just is and we all are. 

We can look at our own screwd-up-ness and the screwed-up-ness of others and wonder how we’ll all ever get out of this mess. Or we can look at the mess with hope and know it can be made beautiful. We can embrace ourselves, with all the twists, gnarls and knots. We can let God embrace us, with all the ugliness that each of us hold, let go and learn that he loves. 

Love is redeeming, Gods love bring us out of darkness into light. Some of the twists are gone and a few of the knots are loosening, but I’m standing in a mess and still have my own special way of being screwed up. Difference is, I’m no longer fumbling around in the dark. The knots are being made beautiful, for no other reason than to glorify him, the one redeeming the mess. 

.mad.

At work, I sit next to a loud typer. Any given time, her keystrokes can be heard across the office, so my close proximity to the click clacking rattles my eardrums. Violent typing is said colleagues only vice and if it wasn't for her emphatic hen pecking, she'd be perfect. 

I type loudly when I'm angry, if someone or something has gotten up my nose, they can expect a strongly worded, yet exceptionally polite e-mail (a skill I learnt from my darling mother). In 2012, I have been tempted to leap into a violent typing frenzy, because

I 

HAVE 

BEEN 

MAD.

Mad is not a word I use often and is an emotion that I rarely let take a hold. Seldom do I see the merit in getting angry, as we usually get mad for mundane reasons...reasons that are beyond our control such as traffic jams & burnt toast (there should be an international toasting regulation standard where the settings on each toaster manufactured are consistent, to guarantee golden brown toast everytime). Or, we're vexed by others because somewhere (even if we don't realise it) a raw nerve is touched by their actions/words and we retaliate. 

From my observations, anger or frustration in reaction to most situations stems from our own brokenness and not the situation we are immediately facing. You get to the point where turbulent behaviour and vicious words seem like the only release. Then, upon reflection spitting acerbic words and slamming inanimate objects seems childish, hurtful (to others and yourself) and unnecessary. 

During the times I've been angry this year and wanted to rant incessantly on various social media platforms, I have come to realise that a rant will not help the situation. I can't change those around me whose actions and attitudes frustrate me, I can only try to put my finger on the raw nerve being hit and make changes in my own life so I react in a manner that is not damaging to myself, others and our relationships. 

I've also thought about what actually is worth getting mad about. Oppression and injustice make me irate. Hunger, poverty, abuse, segregation, discrimination, falseness, greed. Each of these issues anger me, yet I don't know what I can do to tangibly make a difference. 

I am at odds.....and that makes me mad. 

.eleven lessons from twenty eleven.

If my January 2012 self met my January 2011 self, this is what I would tell....myself.

Eleven reminders of eleven lessons I learnt, re-learnt or continued to learn in twenty eleven.

1. Stay up late on a school night. It’s worth being tired at work the next day. 
2. Don’t stand for injustice. The choices you make each day have the power to change another persons world. 
3. Heed caution when it comes to your caffeine intake. Your usual daily caffeine intake doesn't exceed one latte, so think twice about drinking a latte, a double shot latte, a bottle of coke and another latte on one day. Your friends will disown you and fellow passengers on public transport will give you weirder looks than usual.
4. Don’t try and do everything in your own strength. There are others available to help and there is strength to call on greater than your own. 
5. Cars & mobile phones are a recipe for disaster. You might not hit a person, but you can still get hit with a $243.50 fine from a not so fine police officer riding a push bike (who you initially thought was just some delinquent tapping on your car window). 
6. Value friendships. Especially those who are consistent in keeping in touch - they are worth their weight in gold. 
7. Occasionally, try not to be so responsible. It makes life much more interesting (however, keep lessons three & five in mind).
8. Do try a radical new haircut. You might be surprised with the results.
9. Feelings are fickle. Know what you believe and stick to it, regardless of what your emotions are saying.
10. Don’t wear a red and white striped shirt to work. Even though you are clearly going for the parisian look, all day your colleagues will refer to you as Wally, a pirate or if Christmas is around the corner....a candy cane.
11. Be yourself. You don’t realise how much just being you has the power to bless those around you.

Crimson
Covenant
Foundation
Magnificent colours
Intricate patterns
Built on foundation
Found in covenant
Liberty
Contentment
Peace

Does my butt look big in these cranky pants?

A good friend of mine, Liz, once described my style as 'Grandma'. I'm unsure as to what was more painful, the statement itself or the realisation that I am quite Nana-esque. These days I embrace the Nana, I rock the Granny. I wear cardigans and pearls, I sew, craft and cook goodies....or maybe these qualities make me a hipster??

Over the weekend I went to a matinee at the State Theatre with my Nonna and my Great Aunt. The demographics at matinees are generally dependant on the show itself, however most attendees have a bedtime of 7pm. Beyond this, plots with fairies, munchkins and ballerinas attract the kiddies (and by default, their parents) and shows with rousing chorus lines, innuendo and a barf-worthy love story attract the pensioners. If a production company is shrewd they'll find a combination of the two and have a killer season. Needless to say, I was with the oldies, rockin' the Nana...a brunette head, amongst a sea of grey.

Before the curtain was raised, two frail old bodies managed to have a tumble down the stairs. The first, a sprightly lady, rolled over, stood back up and continued on her merry way. The second was a gentleman, in his late 70s, who toppled down a number of stairs...one of his cronies eventually helped him up and guided him to the nearest seat. As he sat down, the poor fella almost missed the seat completely and sat on the arm of the chair. First Aid came and assisted the man and as they tried to get him up, he fell over again onto the floor where he began slipping in & out of consciousness. Eventually, rather than try to make him stand again, they brought in a stretcher and carried him out to be examined.

The performance didn't overly grab my attention, but observing this man in his frail state rattled me, so this provided good two hours to ponder. Naturally, my thoughts fell to age and ageing. Growing old doesn't scare me, but there are plenty of other things that do...this list includes; sultanas in curries, amaretto, white pants, carnies and matching socks. Also on this list is the fear that I will get to a ripe age and not have seen my desires fulfilled or made a difference in my world. I am sure that so many of those in the crowd at the show had dreams and aspirations that were never met and resulted in broken-hearts and disappointment.

Over the past few weeks, I've spent a fair chunk of time being in a bad mood. I've been a cranky pants wearing, scowling, wallowing, emotion fuelled wreck. That isn't me. Mostly, I am a very chipper person and I ride the waves of life with consistency and a sound perspective. Occasionally, this perspective is skewed by circumstances beyond my control (although, my attitude is in my control) and I become the aforementioned hideous bitch-face. Bitch-face Zara prevents me from making a change in my life, because she's attending a 24/7 pity party.

Following my contemplations on age, I couldn't help but resolve that I don't want to waste time being in a bad mood. Wearing your cranky pants doesn't impact anyone around you for the better; they just make look you've got a big fat attitude problem (excuse me, does my butt look big in these cranky pants?). So while I can't slow down the ageing process, I can slow down, assess my frame of mind and make choices that will create change & spur difference. And while heartbreak and disappointment are unavoidable, contentment within any circumstance is possible and it is this knowledge that prevents me from permanently wearing my cranky pants.

.cool kid.

A friend of mine called me cool the other day…. but I have a confession to make…I am not one of the cool kids. I think said person has been misinformed. I’m seriously the biggest dork I know. My dorkiness exceeds all boundaries. Perhaps I’ve become so exorbitantly dorky that my dorkiness is creating the illusion that I am actually a cool kid. The illusion many be present, but I know it’s not true.

I have many weird quirks and eccentricities and if my friends knew them in their entirety, they would disappear faster than a fart in a fan factory (Yep, I did just write that). What constitutes as cool anyway?

When I was in primary school, the raddest kids had extensive tazo collections, brain yo-yo’s and tamagotchis. Instead, I read books, painted and picked my nose. Then, in high school (keep in mind I lived in Queensland) the popular kids wore billabong clothes, were tanned, thin and surfed. I was plump, practically translucent and trembled in fear whenever I went near a surfboard. I did once own a billabong t-shirt, but my nanna got a dirty bleach stain all over the front of it and I think it was then I realised I would never be cool. University provided a glimmer of hope in increasing my coolness rating, but I didn’t do much better. I was so low on self-esteem and critical of others that I spent most of my time reading textbooks and eating my feelings.

These days I’m not much cooler than I was growing up. I might not be so plump and am confident (for the most part), but I’m still an albino, have an irrational fear of surfboards and have never owned a tamagotchi.

The only thing I can put my finger on that is different from then to now is that I am content. I’m happy with the changes that have occurred in my life (thanks to a massive amount of divine intervention) and am learning to accept how I was created. I am a HUGE dork…but I like that and the more I get to know myself, I uncover further layers for oddness.

When somebody is comfortable within himself for herself, I believe this gives others the impression of ‘cool’ (a.k.a. confidence). Perhaps this is what my friend observed…that I am comfortable with myself and the idiosyncrasies I possess. I know that I am outrageously uncool, but if others get the reverse impression because I’ve accepted my uncoolness, I’ll claim it.

.wallflowers & shrinking violets.

Shy people are misunderstood. Just because one is shy does not necessarily make them:

A. Socially inept
B. Rude
C. Low on confidence
D. A serial killer or
E. All of the above

I would describe myself as a shy person. This may surprise some. In new social settings where I am feeling out of my depth, I struggle to initiate conversation with those I've just met (it seems to come so easily to some!). You many not think that I am shy, but I assure you that beyond the cool, calm & collected surface, I am experiencing significant internal turmoil.

Despite my initial shyness, once I'm comfortable around others its hard to shut me up. It's then, when I'm mingling without hesitation that others see that I am not really a Wallflower or Shrinking Violet...that I am:

A. Socially apt
B. Absurdly polite
C. Have a healthy level of confidence
D. Am not planning on cutting them into little pieces
E. Am all of the above (and more!)

The best quality about my fellow shy comrades is that they are surprising and are often not what you expect. Spend quality time with a reserved person, delve deeper and you will be astounded with what you discover. Some of the most interesting people I know are introverted and I am so grateful to have invested time in these relationships (and vice versa).

Shy people get misjudged…when I meet new people I sometimes feel that they think I am a stuck up, uptight, snob. Now, I know that I am none of these things, but this is my observation of others perceptions of me. Strangely, I actually kind of like that people perceive me that way…it’s good to rock the boat now and again and mess with peoples pre-conceived notions.

Stereotyping and pigeonholing are treacherous past-times. My desire is to quit judging others by their exterior appearance and behaviour and see beyond the labels we put on each other. I want to be surprised by the people I encounter and I want to surprise others…there is a richness that can be found in each person that is so easily passed by – I don’t want to be poor because I didn’t stop.