Goodbye To All That

Since the results of Brexit have come through with 51.9% of the UK voting to leave the EU, I feel that the terra firm upon which I stood so recently is rapidly disintegrating beneath me. I am on unstable territory.

My frame of reference. The place I call home. The axis against which I based my choices on where in the world to live has irrevocably tipped over. For good. And I know I am not the only one to feel this way.

In the months leading up to the Brexit referendum, the sensationalist scare tactics used by both the Remain and Leave parties left me cold. However I was in no doubt that I would vote in. To leave the EU, an alliance which I regard as having immeasurably more benefits than disadvantages for the world at large, seemed to be sheer stupidity.

When the polls called it a neck and neck race, I think most did not really believe we would ever leave the EU. Or maybe that was just me. With my head in the sand. In a state of denial.

After all, why would a UK citizen vote for insularity over cosmopolitanism. Competition over alliance. Borders up rather than bridges built. Why would someone think it is stronger to stand alone rather than together?

Why?

Nationalism is a dangerous tool to wield in a world which needs to work together. Our generation is a global one and the technological access we have cuts down borders of geography, distance and time. None of us are isolated from one another if we choose not to be and if we have the access to technology. It is political artifice to create a golden vision of insularity and sell it as strength.

It is a lie.

Which is common enough in politics but this lie is one that British citizens will be suffering the consequences of for generations to come.

And me. All the reasons I love living in London are to be tested. The feeling of being a part of the world at large. The freedom of access. The inclusivity, diversity, dynamism and integration are all under threat. It may not be all doom and gloom but at a visceral level, this just feels wrong.

As John Donne wrote in fricken 1624:

No man [sic] is an island entire of itself; every man

is a piece of the continent, a part of the main;

if a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe

is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as

well as any manner of thy friends or of thine

own were; any man's death diminishes me,

because I am involved in mankind.

And therefore never send to know for whom

the bell tolls; it tolls for thee

Will we ever learn?

Over and Out

About four years ago, I wrote about a blog post about re-entry into the paid workforce after having had a baby. I did not foresee that the beginning of a part-time working life  (plus baby, plus Masters degree) would mean the end of blogging.

I don't know why I did not see this. Even a blind person would have seen it.

It was a busy four years. I met some truly wonderful people in my workplace. My boss was tops. I went to work beaming most days. Happy and full of bad jokes which I shared with anyone around me.

Then disaster struck! Nine months ago, the project I had been developing with my boss was suspended indefinitely. I had nothing to do. Left with little choice, I applied for an internal vacancy which on paper looked like a great challenge. More responsibility. More money. More days.

When they offered it to me, I felt uneasily relieved. I wasn't happy about spending less time with Dragon but I did welcome a new challenge. It was a trade-off.

A great deal is made of intuition by holistic practitioners and Psychologies magazine.

Follow your gut, they say. Or is it,  Listen to your gut. ?

Regardless, the true answer to all life's mysteries is to be found within your abdomen

During the handover for my new role, my stomach had a lot to say. The primary message seemed to be:

GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!

Did I listen?  Did I follow?

No. I did jackshit and instead adopted a Protestant work ethic facade hoping that my stomach was wrong.  That I was just imagining that the new job did not resemble in the slightest what I had hoped it would be.

An oldie, but a goodie

Six months later, I quit.

It wasn't all for nothing. Being in a soul sucking, toxic workplace highlighted to me what I wanted to do. I started writing a book to keep myself sane. And I started writing here again. And many more places. I just started to write.

It was the only way to get my stomach to shut up.

My Tribe

For as long as I can remember, the concept of belonging is something I have been interested in. As a child of first generation Chinese immigrants to Australia and now also a  British citizen, I have carved my identity via a ever-changing  fluidity between socio-cultural boundaries. Whilst this pick and mix approach to life has served me well, there have been times which I wished to belong to one group and one group only.  My own tribe so to speak. One which is not born from blood relations or having gone through university together.  This thought stems from the sepia-tinted notion that we all have a troupe in the world with whom we have an innate affinity with; an idea probably originating from the period where we lived in nomadic tribes and moved according to the seasons and hunting,

In our modern society where we follow Wi-Fi rather than wildebeest, there are so many tribes to infiltrate as you journey through life. From high school cliques to the smokers circle at work; we join these groups only to leave them as we form new associations based on changing life experiences. For example, just in the last few years I have joined the new parent tribe, the part-time working mum trying to juggle it all tribe, the school gate drop off networking tribe. And my favourite which is the I don't have time to see you or call you so let's form a Whatsapp Chat group tribe.

The Hipster Dude Tribe. Fast growing and in need of pest control 

Membership to all of the above have enriched my life in ways untold but I have never had that feeling with any of the above. The feeling which is not dissimilar to a MGM Technicolour film moment where you stand looking out over a vast horizon with an industrial strength wind machine blowing you hair back (which is long of course). You grip your hand into a fist and proclaim to some invisible deity :

These are my people. 

Imagine this scene from The Ten Commandants and you get the idea:

Long Hair. Tick. Dramatic hands. Tick. Epic Horizon. Tick
(image courtesy of The Daily Mail)

The only time which I have experienced this feeling was my years spent working with The Wilderness Society. It was my good luck and privilege at nineteen to have met a group of people who were ahead of their time. All the climate change, renewable energy, dietary choice (gluten free, vegan and so on) buzzwords bandied around now were part and parcel of these peoples' lifestyles over twenty years ago.  But it was not their beliefs so much as their general character traits that won me over. Free thinking, intelligent, kind, determined, inspiring, open-minded, altruistic, were but a few of the qualities I encountered en masse during that period. Most were older than me, in their thirties, and encouraged me to seek life on my terms and no-one else's. It was good advice and they were good role models. The synergy of those years was alchemical. We all lived in close proximity. Our social and work lives intertwined. There was no effort to our association,; it was completely mutual.  Eventually life took us all in different directions and the tribe dismantled.  I missed it intensely for years afterwards and the experiences I had during that time influence me still.

Since then I have been in the wilderness. I have been in many groups, voluntarily and not, but there has not been that tribal association since. I got married but you cannot have a tribe of two I decided. Then Dragon came along and we became a three. I realised then that a tribe has to have some fluidity to membership. You need to be able to dip in and out. Go walkabout from time to time. You cannot go walkabout when a fellow tribe member relies on you to wipe her bum.

Recently I attended a mum's book club event, which turned out to be very little about books but more so about Prosecco and local chit-chat. The mum's were all from Dragon's school and it was my first time meeting several of them. As the evening progressed, it transpired that none of us were originally from London and neither were any of our husbands or partners. Like myself, most of these women had met their breeding mates (I don't want to say Husband. I don't want to say Boyfriend. I don't want to say Partner. There is no one size fits all so I'm going to say Breeding Mate) away from their original places of upbringing. The stories we tipsily shared had the commonality that we were all living and raising children in a city where we have no roots. Most have no old, close friends nearby. Many of us have no blood relations near. Our parents are aging and live far away.  We are a group of travellers who stayed where we travelled.

As I walked home that evening, slightly half-cut, my thoughts wondered to my neighbours as I passed their houses on the way back. My Prosecco-tinged internal monologue went something like:

That's where Shelley lives who is from France and her husband is from America. And next door to her is Ellie from Brazil and Peter from Malaysia.

Drunkenly I went through the geographical origins of all the neighbours I knew. Then onto others in the local school community and then pretty much everyone I knew in London (it was a long walk home)  It became obvious that a trend was emerging. No-one I know in London is from London.* And neither are their partners. And more often than not, both partners would have grown up in a completely different country to each other.

Yet here we all are. In this stinky, complex, expensive rough gem of a city which we all absolutely do not want to leave. I belong in London because London is full of people like me.**

There was no horizon, apart from terraced rooftops. There was no wind to blow through my not-long hair. My hands had been tightly grasping a champagne flute all night so were too worn out to make into fists. But it turned out these accoutrements were just window dressing for when I realised:

I am amongst my people,

it felt framed in full colour.



*Apart from the Husband. He is London born and bred.And he would want you to know it.
** He also says you do not need to be born in London to be a Londoner

Natalie Merchant - Paradise is There - Royal Albert Hall, March 16, 2016

There are definitive albums (yes, let’s still call it an album) that are mark out periods of your life. One such album for me is Tiger Lily, by the American artist, Natalie Merchant. During my twenties, the plaintive tones of Ms Merchant were often found on my Walkman (for those of you who don’t know what that is – Google it) and then later, my Discman (Google) Her appeal as a singer songwriter came from her sparse song arrangements accompanied by deceptively simple lyrics which evoked complex worlds within which characters spoke of their day to day lives and served to draw me in.

Last night Natalie Merchant played her only London show as part of her worldwide 2016 tour, Paradise is There.  The tour commemorates the twenty year anniversary of Tiger Lily’s release. The tour showcases re-recordings of the original eleven songs with different arrangements, reflecting the passage of time and its impact on both songwriter and song.

I had managed to score a ticket to the show which was at the Royal Albert Hall. An email from the venue had stipulated that there would be no support act and that Natalie would arrive on stage at 7.30pm.  In my seat by 7.20pm, I watched as the half empty venue slowly filled up. The audience demographic seemed like they would appreciate an early start so they could be back home and in bed by 11.00pm.

Soon Natalie arrived on stage as promised and launched into her first song. Halfway through, she forgot the words. So she started again. And then again. Apologising for her nerves, she re-commenced the song and by its end, she could have recited the alphabet or read the dictionary. By flubbing the lyrics, she had won us over. As she started to hit her stride it became clear that her songs have not diminished with time, nor her voice. 

As she played through her first set, Ms Merchant visibly warmed up as she sang her old tunes, dancing on the stage like a flamenco whirling dervish. She was dressed in the manner of a ballet teacher in a black ballet wraparound top, black leggings and black chiffon skirt.  Her hair manifested itself differently for each song. Sometimes up. Sometimes down. Sometimes being held by her hand and sometimes being whipped along to the beat of the music. Her hair had a show in its own right.

As she danced to her own music, it seemed that she was invoking the songs through her dancing.  The more she danced, the warmer she got. The warmer she got, the more relaxed she seemed.  And the more relaxed she became, the more powerful her performance.  It was as much a visual treat as well as an aural one. By the end of the first set, the audience were all warmed up too and reluctantly let her go for the compulsory intermission as dictated by the venue so it could make more money from the audience at the bar.

Even though she said her touring act were unaccustomed to taking intermission breaks, there was no sign of mid show lethargy as Natalie and her band plunged us into the second set post intermission. Relaxed, she bantered with the audience and weaved her way through the aisles, mixing singing with improvisational dance. Remarkably she managed to create an atmosphere of intimacy whilst performing in such a cavernous venue. It was extraordinary and even though my seat was far up in the highest circle, I did not feel far at all.

In fact, it felt like I was in my twenties again. Listening to her on my Walkman while walking down the streets of my hometown.

Mother to Child

I'm baacck....

And to kick off my re-entry into the blogging world, I'll post this which I wrote many moons ago when I was nowhere close to being a mother:

Dear Child,

Life? What can I possibly tell you about life? I am no expert. I can only tell you what I have felt and seen and learned so far. So what I am telling you is only my story, for you to take or leave as you so wish.

As you grow older, you will become more aware of time. Not time as in the real sense, meaning those handful of  moments in our lives which really matter. No, in this case I mean time as in the clock ticking time. You will notice yourself becoming more preoccupied with this notion of time and how Time is Short.  How you may not be able to fit in everything you want to do as You Have No Time.

If you can, I would say ditch this approach immediately. Do not make yourself a willing slave to this idea of time. Because in the end, it is only an idea. A powerful one, but an idea nonetheless and as with all ideas, they exist only in our minds eye unless we give them the power to live in the world.

You see, it is not true that time is short and that you have no time. In reality, time is what you make of it and if you choose to make time for something or someone, the time will be there.  Do not trust people who tell you constantly that they are so very, very busy and do not have time for you. The truly busiest people that I know always find a moment for what is important.

Be generous. Be a generous person not only with your time but with your thoughts, your actions, your money, your mind and your heart. Be someone that is interested in other people. It is always possible to find something in common or something interesting about another person no matter how different they may seem to you. Fight against the urge to think too much about yourself and instead, focus on others. Extend your perspective outwards.  There is a big wide world for you to explore with all its magic and wonders and it will open itself up to you if you choose to look at it rather than looking at yourself.

It is important in life to have discipline. I hope that I have instilled some sense of that within you. When I was a little girl, your grandmother put me in ballet classes. I hated them. For nine bitter years, I endured these classes. They were hard and tough and I hated my teacher. My mother (your grandmother) would not give into my pleas to stop.

She used to say to me, 'You don't understand now what this is giving you but you will when you are older. It is not just about learning ballet, it is learning about discipline and how to hold yourself in the world. ' 

When I was fifteen, everything changed. I became mature enough to realise how useful the discipline I had learned from ballet was. I was able to apply it in so many different sectors of my life. This discipline helped me become the woman I am today and the mother I am to you. So discipline is important. Keep some in your life at all times. It will help you through a lot in life.

Surround yourself with positive, loving people. Do not be too proud or too scared to listen to what others have to say and share in their experience of the world. We all have a lot to teach each other. Try to avoid pettiness and also do not hold yourself to impossible standards. Perfection is an illusion and a hard taskmaster. As long as you do your best in what you turn your attention to, be happy with that. Be happy with flaws.

Cultivate humility. Do not confuse humility with false modesty. Be confident and proud of yourself and your achievements but do not boast or brag. You do not need to parade yourself constantly to others.

For some reason that I cannot understand, we are encouraged in society to strive to be happy. As if Happiness is a state of being that we should all reach. Well, that is not my view. If you were happy all the time, it would drive you and everyone else around you mad. Learn to realise that happiness in life comes in moments. It comes and then it goes. Appreciate when it is with you but do not long for it constantly. Life is about so many emotions and states of being. Embrace them all rather than being fixated on only one.

There are so many more things that I wish to write and share with you but I think you will find your own way. The last thing I will leave you with is love. There is a lot said about love and so there should be as it is important. If you wish to have love in your life; be a loving person. It is a mistake to 'look'  for love, for if it is not within your own self, you won’t find it anywhere else.  For love is a reflection of your own humanity upon the world. Love is a muscle that you must constantly flex. It is not passive and it does not 'happen' to you. You create the love that you want.

I helped create you and you are my love.

Your Mother.

The Lucky Country?

Does life get more intense when you enter your forties?  It certainly seems that way. Life and death seem to be more closely entwined than ever, Perhaps this is what happens when you have young children and aging parents?  My friends in the same demographic all seem as intensely engaged, with marriages, deaths, births, separations and illnesses all clamouring for their time and energy.

The reality of aging is that it is a consuming experience. So what part does your environment play?

Recently I returned from my annual pilgrimage back to Perth, Western Australia with two short detours to Sydney and Singapore. When we were out in sunny Perth, my husband remarked:

The Australian people do not look very well.

I knew what he was referring to. I too had noticed that after a certain age, the demographic in Perth seemed to age at an accelerated pace. This difference was highlighted in contrast to London where the same demographic seemed markedly more youthful.

Generalisations of course but that is what we noticed and have noticed over the last ten years.

The obvious reasons might point to heightened sun exposure and the car dominant infrastructure of Perth. In general, there is not the need to be as active in one's daily life in Perth. Walking is not a requirement there.

However a conversation with my aunt exposed another crucial difference. On commenting about her first trip to London and Europe last year, she said:

Life is not easy in London like it is here in Australia. Life seems more difficult over there.

She's right of course. Australia still hold the mantle of the Lucky Country with its space, natural beauty, wonderful produce and ease of life. That is unless you are a refugee, asylum seeker or Aboriginal.

But there is something about not having too easy a life that keeps alight a vitality within.  London is a complex, dynamic, expensive, dirty, melting pot. It is difficult to negotiate. It can be crowded. It is a harsh place if you lack funds or resources. It seems to welcome and shun you at the same time.

It is a harder place to live than Australia.

Which is precisely why I am still here.

Oh Give Me a Home, Where the Buffalo Roam!

Gone with the Wind was a key movie influence in my early teenage years.  I recorded it when it showed on TV and re-watched it so many times that the VHS tape (yes, I am showing my vintage here) started to unspool and tangle.

It was so dramatic and uncompromising. Scarlett was such a definite, unscrupulous, charismatic figure. She knew what she wanted and she didn't give two hoots how she achieved it.  If she'd been around in the 1980's her name would have been Gordon Gekko.

Having watched the movie so many times, I knew all the key quotes off by heart. One of these was when Daddy O'Hara puts his arm around his wayward daughter and points to the enormous plantation house in the distance and booms:

Do you mean to tell me, Katie Scarlett O'Hara, that Tara, that land doesn't mean anything to you? Why, land is the only thing in the world worth workin' for, worth fightin' for, worth dyin' for, because it's the only thing that lasts.


Scarlett and her Big House (run by slaves)

 

This quote has played in my mind over the years when the question of buying property has come up. Daddy O'Hara was clearly someone who believed that you should own your own little piece of home. I however, have avoided house ownership like the plague. Now heading into my forties with young child in tow, I am still renting.

The society I live in makes me feel abnormal about this. Australia and Britiain, the two countries I have spent my adult life in so far, are all about home ownership. Renting is for when you are young and carefree. The goal ultimately is to own your own home as it is seen to make better financial sense. Paying off someone elses mortgage is stupid when you could be paying off your own.   Buying & selling at the right time is critical however. Otherwise you may be stuck with a depreciating property that you can't shift; without sufficient funds to move on anywhere else.

I get the above. I just don't like it.

More and more, I wish we lived in a city where rent controlled living was the norm. Paris. Copenhagen. Berlin. Cities where renting is the norm for the majority and the law works to maintain this. To me, it is a commonsensical way of life. I do not understand the need to own one's home. It's not in my nature, nor that of my husband's. Will it ever be? I don't know.

The pressure is building though. To buy. To stay put. To commit.

Is it time to move again?

Anyone for Seconds?

The past few months have flown by in a flurry of (more than usual) activity. In pursuit of sun and loved ones, we flew halfway across the world with our boisterous toddler barely on our laps. Visiting Perth for Christmas was a dream. A very hot one, but a beautiful dream nonetheless. Fast fading now amidst the cold, grey winter that we returned to in Blighty.

We landed back at Heathrow, heart, mind and body holding together and just as well for we have barely stopped since. Work, study, life have all crowded in as we readjusted to being a unit of three without the additional help or company of loving grandparents and old friends.

In this period many people I knew gave birth. All to their second child. As I heard of each new arrival into this world, I smiled and then asked myself:

Would I?

And the answer each time has been:

No.

It is a question I get asked a lot. It seems to be human nature to jump ahead of ourselves rather than relish what is there. Our few rites of passage (marriage, birth, death) are hurried. Years ago when I announced my engagement, the question on everyone's lips was:

When is the wedding?

After the wedding had barely been done and dusted, it was:

House?
Kids?

And when the kid did come along, my own mother asked me:

Do you think you'll have another?

Given that the stitches were barely out and I was still waking like a Rhinestone Cowboy, I thought the answer would have been obvious.

However it has been nearly two years now since Dragon entered the world. In that time I have considered the sibling question extensively.  I have said to the Husband:

We are putting all our eggs into one basket. It's very risky.

And it is. When you experience the love you have for your child, the thought of anything happening to that child is inconceivable. Better to have a spare. The same being if anything were to happen to you or your partner. Then as siblings they could support one another. That is, if they don't hate each other as some siblings do.

I wonder when people will stop asking that question? When it is evident that I am post menopausal? When I look post menopausal even if I'm not?

And I wonder when I am asked that question, when will I stop asking myself:

Will I?

Introducing Charlotte....

In early October, I ran a half marathon to raise money towards a cure for Retts Syndrome.  I did it because Charlotte has been diagnosed with this condition.  Once I started reading up on Retts, it was evident that it was not a well - known condition with lots of celebrity backing and a public profile; unlike conditions such as Downs Syndrome or autism. Ninety percent of people who donated to my campaign had never heard of it before.

Why is Retts so hidden?

Her mum Caroline started to write a blog about Charlotte's journey.  Here you can find out more about the day-to-day life of Charlotte in her mother's words.

http://charlottetwenty09.wordpress.com/

 

Do You Believe in Magic?

In the month following my birthday, I have been thinking a lot about magic.

Do you believe in magic?

I think you'll find that you do. Even if that is not the term you would use.

The Chinese call it chi; the energy or life force that is in everything. Catholics call it the work of miracles ( and yes, a virgin birth would be that indeed). Jung wrapped it up in his theory of synchronicity. Pagan traditions found that mysticism and nature were one and the same.

Whatever you choose to call it, whatever framework you decide to put it in, when magic happens, you know.

As adults, many of us try to rationalise what we see as extraordinairy or inexplicable events. It's tough being an "adult" to live with the openness that most of us are born with. With bills, mortgages, housework and all the other daily concerns that we must endure; it is hard to remain unblinkered. It is hard to do as William Blake says:

If the doors of perception were cleansed every thing would appear to man[sic] as it is; infinite. For man [sic] has closed himself up, till he sees all things thro' narrow chinks of his cavern.

Blake was considered a bit mad in his time. But I think most visionaries who are ahead of their time are. As Groucho Marx said:

Blessed are the cracked for they shall let in the light.

Another well known crackpot who we now revere, said:

The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious. It is the source of all true art and all science. He [sic] to whom this emotion is a stranger, who can no longer pause to wonder and stand rapt in awe, is as good as dead: his[ sic] eyes are closed. - Einstein

As a child, magic was everywhere for me. I think it must be like this for most children unless they are dissuaded by their elders and taught to repress it.

Either that or you just forget. You "grow up".

What a shame that we allow that to happen. Some adults manage to hang onto it though. Some go on to do very well.  Someone who did very well out of it was the fellow below:

It's true isn't it?  If you don't want to see it, you won't.

But isn't life much more marvellous when you do?

 

Birthday Bliss

It's my birthday. Another year under my belt and what a year it's been. I am pretty chuffed to be honest. I never thought that thirty-nine would feel......good.

I feel good.

They call it the Dirty Thirties.  Dirt has certainly been a feature of my thirties. I moved to London; the smelly, polluted city that I love. I had a baby whose poos are so legendary that they are known at her nursery as Dragon Specials. I learned more and more that life is not fair.  It's a crapshoot.

All you can do is roll with it and turn it to your advantage.

So in that spirit I decided that today was to be about INDULGENCE.

Breakfast at my favourite new spot in London,  the Delaunay followed by a new hair do at J. Moriyama. Then to Bliss Spa for their super dooper oxygen treatment which is probably a case of getting a few hundred quid out of your wallet and burning it (We'll see, watch this space) Then some time with Dragon before a night of latin dancing and dinner with the Husband.

Thoroughly frivolous and I am going to soak up every single minute of it.

Bring on the Naughty Forties. Living life the way you want and to hell with the rest.

Mortal Engine

A few weeks ago I found out that Chunky Move were touring to London to perform Mortal Engine at the Southbank Centre.

I am going to see Chunky Move, I told the Husband. Can you look after Dragon that night?

Who is Chunky? he asked. Why do you want to see him move?

Chunky Move is an Australian contemporary dance company based in Melbourne, Victoria. Founded by Gideon Obarzanek in the mid 90's, they have been on my radar since 2003 when I lived in Melbourne and took classes at their studios. Their HQ resembled a big bar of chocolate which had been gnawed at by a giant rat:



Cadbury or Nestle?

Inside the windowless studios which were painted a honeycomb yellow, I would take weekly contemporary classes, wondering if I would catch a glimpse of Mr Obarzanek looking artistic and moody. The dancers from his company often taught our classes and over time, I came to view Chunky Move as a dance home by default.

Artistic? Moody? Nah....

On Saturday night, I was the first to enter the empty Queen Elizabeth Hall theatre. As I took my seat and watched the audience come in, I saw Gideon Obarzanek walking down the aisle, takeway coffee in hand, looking like, well, Gideon Obarzanek. I felt like shouting Hi! before I realised he did not know me even though his company felt like a piece of my past.

Mortal Engine is known for being a contemporary dance piece which wholly embraces motion capture video and sound responsive projections as part of its choreography. The technology utilised is not an adjunct to the piece but very much an equal performer in its own right. In his notes, Obarzanek, describes the work as a dance-video-music-laser performance.

Usually this kind of thing turns me right off a dance piece. I often feel that if the work is good, it doesn't need the flashiness of lights and lasers to embellish it.

Mortal Engine proved me wrong. As I watched the piece unfold, I marvelled how he had seamlessly integrated all the different components together to create some wonderful performance moments that were fresh to my eye. The sceptic in me got a big slap.

There was also slightly too much laser and noise work at times, making me feel as if I were trapped in a bad rave venue. And some choreography which made me wonder if Obarzanek is bored with bodies.

Nonetheless I left excited about what this work it meant for the future of dance. And curious as to how quickly all the London creatives in the audience that night will start to adopt these methods into their own work.

Congrats Gideon. Good job.


 

Goodbye to All That. Part II

Yesterday I deactivated my Facebook account.  For months I had been itching to do it but could not because of my fundraising efforts for Retts Syndrome. Love it or loathe it, Facebook is a great social platform for spreading the word.

The reason I have come off Facebook is that I wanted to get rid of half of my "friends". I didn't know how to do this without pissing people off.  So I thought I'd take myself off instead. I realised during my months of fundraising that many of these "friends" were not. I don't have it in me right now for people who take my energy and give nothing back in return. Adios!

Bye Bye Facebook. I'll miss you (for a week)

I also need time to work on a special project that has been in the pipeline for many years. Facebook is the best excuse for dithering and not doing what you should. So I figured, no Facebook. No excuses. We'll see. I have a two month gap in my life to give his project momentum. 

And for this project to take flight, I need the time to stare and dream and think. I need the creative space which I have made no time for in the past two or three years.

I need to create rather than react.

It's been 24 hours and it feels weird in this post Facebook space. I feel like an addict that is coming off her drug of choice.

I've promised myself that once the project is past it first stages, I can log back into Facebook and unleash my inner nosy parker.

Who knows. Maybe I won't want to by then.