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.

.cubicles.

In my experience, one of the most frustrating aspects of being a woman is queuing up to use the ladies room. On the rare occasion I enter a public restroom where there is no line, I am tempted to do a little celebratory jig, but refrain for the fear that a pack of women will enter the ladies room and usurp my position.

I don’t understand why the line to the bathroom is that much longer for the feminie species. Sure, there are particular reasons why the process is speedier for men, its basic biology…but this isn’t really the forum to go into detail. Biology aside, I see no quantifiable reason for the line to be as long as it is…I guess a lot of us spend time primping and preening in front of the mirror – however this ritual should not impact the turn around time of each individual cubicle. Get in, do your business & get out.

Further to my above frustration; crawling traffic, dawdling shop assistants and slow walkers get on my nerves. Patience is not strength of mine....apart from the card variety, I didn’t have many friends as a kid, so I’m ace. Apparently it is a virtue, but I don’t believe that many people would be virtuous when confronted with a bursting bladder and a line as long as the Great Wall of China to get to the loo.

Cultivating patience in ones life is not a pleasant experience. Currently, I feel like I am in transit….but not moving forward, sitting idle. I know where I want to go and what I want to happen; ready to slam my foot on the accelerator. Yet discernment is telling me to slow down and not race into anything. So here I sit, idle, waiting patiently.

Good things come to those who wait and I feel as if I have been waiting for a lifetime. Ironically, I’m afraid that after all the waiting, God will answer my prayers and I will mess it up. Trepidation is my best worst enemy…it’s kept me from experiencing so much, but it has also protected me from much more. I guess when you are invested entirely in something, you have much more to lose and from what I’ve learnt, the best way to live is when you are entirely engrossed, abandoning yourself, relinquishing every hesitation.

I want to live a life where I am not afraid to fail, a life where I don’t hold onto something so dearly that I am afraid the picture I have in my mind will crush if I say or do the wrong thing. Patience is an amazing quality that I believe God can grant in immeasurable quantities and in unbelievable circumstances, but I don’t want to be tricked into thinking I am waiting patiently, when really, what I am being ‘patient’ for is an idol, distracting me from being truly engrossed in what and whom I should be: Jesus.

Trust in the LORD and do good;
dwell in the land and enjoy safe pasture.
Take delight in the LORD,
and he will give you the desires of your heart.
Commit your way to the LORD;
trust in him and he will do this:
He will make your righteous reward shine like the dawn,
your vindication like the noonday sun.
Be still before the LORD
and wait patiently for him
Psalm 37:3-7a

.multitasking.

Women are meant to be fantastic multitaskers. I do not believe myself to be one of these women. Yes, I can eat a sandwich, listen to music and facebook, but none of these activities require actual skills. Legitimate multitasking involves numerous actions where real skills are utilised. Chewing, typing and using your ears are not particularly skilful actions.

My inability to tenpin bowl would be an example of my incapability to multitask. Walking towards the lane, focusing my aim, lunging to bowl the ball, releasing and then actually bowling in straight line seems beyond me. One might say that tenpin bowling is not a multitasking action, that rather, it is one fluid motion....I beg to differ.

I am very much in awe of people who are multitaskers. Specifically, I am in awe of musicians. Earlier in the week I went and saw some live music and was blown away by the support act who was able to sing, play guitar, the harmonica and still manage to look trendy. I do not look trendy when I try to tenpin bowl.

I live in a share house and one of my flatmates has instruments around the lounge room (namely an acoustic guitar, a bass, a djambe and a tambourine). About a week ago I had a few friends over for dinner and as the majority of them are musically inclined a jam session was unavoidable. While they were all being cool cats, singing and strumming, I sat there being my usual dorky self, wishing I had learned an instrument instead of the nunchucks. My nunchuck skills are off the hook….whenever you see me, I am nunchucking. I’m so first-rate that you can’t see my hands or the nunchucks moving.

Nunchuck skills aside; musicians are amazing (it’s no wonder every girl I know wants a boyfriend with a guitar in tow) and I do wish I had the potential to be some crazy talented musical lass who wows crowds with her stellar voice and ability to play fifteen instruments at once. But, I am not that woman.

Truthfully, I am still trying to figure out who the heck I am. Small pieces of the puzzle are starting to come together, but it feels as if there are so many wrong pieces I try to jam into my puzzle. Often, I don’t realise that I’m trying to be someone or something I am not. That’s why I am so thankful to God for slowly but surely revealing to me the women he desires me to be.

.wired.

Intellgence.

Uh-oh.

I decide to write a blog about intelligence and I don’t even spell it correctly the first time…perhaps I didn’t strike the ‘I’ key with enough gusto….yes…gusto…..that is the story I am going to stick to.

Some people are ridiculously smart. I can’t comprehend how scientists and mathematicians even solve the most basic of problems. Their brains are just wired so differently to mine. My brains wiring is an array of colours, with a plethora of swirls and twirls, flourishes and embellishments. But there is a method to the creative madness of my brain. It is also organised; there is uniformity to the chaotic rainbow of wiring in my head, each part having its place and purpose.

Constantly, my organised side and my creative side are at war. Organisation v Creativity. Organisation over in the left corner, Creativity over in the right. To compare the battle going on in my brain to one of my favourite childhood books – Matilda, Organisation looks like Miss Trunchbull. She’s all military, monobrowed and ready to push Creativity straight into the chokey. Creativity of course is Miss Honey, who is floral, full of finesse and ready to let Organisation know she’s not going to be oppressed any longer. In Matilda, Miss Honey and Matilda kick Miss Trunchbulls kahki’d butt. But when it comes to my brain, there is no winner. Creativity and organisation are as strong as each other and the battle rages.

I consider my brain and how it has been so masterfully put together (oh yes, it is full of glitches – but that’s part of the appeal) and marvel. I am amazed at how others brains are put together; how one person can perform magic by solving equations in their head, how another brings beauty into the world by arranging texture and colour.

Intelligence is subjective. No brand of cleverness is more significant or necessary than the other. Logic needs creativity and creativity needs logic. I’m so delighted that the world has been crafted in such a way. Gravity keeps our planet (and the all others) in orbit and at the same time the solar system manages to be one of the most exquisite sights one will ever view. God’s logic and creativity is working in perfect harmony in this world.

And bizarrely, God is bringing harmony to the war that is raging in my head.

.tripper.

Maintaining balance is not what you would call one of my strengths and while I'm not a complete klutz, I am prone to the occasional topple.

One such instance occurred about 3 weeks ago. I had just been to church and had to rush off to a family picnic, on the way, I stopped at local shopping centre to drop off some items to be dry cleaned and buy some batteries. By chance, I happened to run into my flatmate in Coles on my way to get some AA's. The line to the check out was unnecessarily long and in an effort to save some time, I embarked on a mission to find my flatmate and ask him to purchase on my behalf. This mission involved a dash through the fruit and vegetable section...who would have thought that a rouge grape would come across my path, rendering me flat on my butt in front of a stack of bananas (of the human and fruit variety). Needless to say, I was blushing like a tomato. I found my flatmate, gave him the batteries and fled!

To console myself, I grabbed a take away coffee and a slice of carrot cake. I toddled off to my car, opened the door, flung my handbag onto the passenger seat and felt something slip from my hand. My precious carrot cake had tumbled to an untimely death....much like myself a few moments earlier. Amazingly, the cake had remained in tact (as I had....well, physically...not so much emotionally). I stood there for a good ten seconds trying to decide if I should pick up the cake or not....


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I'm ashamed to admit it, but I snatched it up, plonked myself behind the wheel, drank my coffee and savoured every morsel of the gravel infested carrot cake.

In addition to my physical trips, I have noticed that I have been tripping in other ways recently. There have been no special brownies, or mystical mushroom pizzas, instead, my trips have been of a moral nature. Honestly, I haven’t been living out what I profess to believe and I’ve tripped in a multitude of ways.

I was reading Luke (7:40-50) the other day and was reminded of Gods amazing grace when I came across the following passages about Jesus being anointed by the sinful woman.

Jesus answered him, “Simon, I have something to tell you.”

“Tell me, teacher,” he said.

“Two people owed money to a certain moneylender. One owed him five hundred denarii, and the other fifty. 42 Neither of them had the money to pay him back, so he forgave the debts of both. Now which of them will love him more?”

Simon replied, “I suppose the one who had the bigger debt forgiven.”

“You have judged correctly,” Jesus said.

Then he turned toward the woman and said to Simon, “Do you see this woman? I came into your house. You did not give me any water for my feet, but she wet my feet with her tears and wiped them with her hair. You did not give me a kiss, but this woman, from the time I entered, has not stopped kissing my feet. You did not put oil on my head, but she has poured perfume on my feet. Therefore, I tell you, her many sins have been forgiven—as her great love has shown. But whoever has been forgiven little loves little.”

Then Jesus said to her, “Your sins are forgiven.”

The other guests began to say among themselves, “Who is this who even forgives sins?”

Jesus said to the woman, “Your faith has saved you; go in peace.”

I love how God forgives. That forgiveness is not impingent on what I do, but rather what he has done. I trip every day and I am so grateful that he catches me.