.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.

.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.