Sex fantasies and all… (#humor #sex #love & #sarcasm)

I don’t believe in love at first sight. I’m so easily distracted when I see hot guys, that chances are if I did fall in love instantly, I’d run him over with a truck. And if we are to base this on trial and error from the past, my history shows that every man I did fall in love with at first sight usually ended up being disposed of rather quickly and those I said I’d never date in a million years ended up in my bedroom. There are, of course, exceptions to the rule. I once saw a guy walking into a nightclub and decided I wanted him. It’s not so weird though given the week before I had written a long list of everything I wanted in a man (most notably that he should be a filmmaker with dark curly hair and speak fluent French) and this man fit the bill. Not that I could have known that when he walked in the door, but maybe I was psychic? Or maybe I created him if it is true we create our reality? However, the time I said I wanted to marry an American millionaire I ended up with two, none of whom I married. I simultaneously asked for my soul mate and the problem was probably that my soul mate wasn’t a millionaire. Yet. I can only hope he’s become one since.

Sometimes when I feel bad about my non-existent love life and my past escapades I retort to reading Sex and the City quotes, because if I fucked up at least I will be sure to remember Samantha fucked a lot more. That could, potentially, be seen as a depressing fact as well though, in which case I have to bring out chocolate to see things in another light. Chocolate, however, is not well-known for its sense of humor. For that you might need to grab a bottle of wine.

If the wine makes you sentimental, instead of giggly, it will remind you that the reason you dated fucked up men is because you were fucked up. This means you are suddenly overcome by an urge to work on your beloved business as a form of escapism, as it will remind you that there is passion in your life, even if it doesn’t come with an orgasm. If you really can’t get your head out of the gutter you pick up a cheap novel about ever lasting romance and convince yourself that if the fifty year old heroine who suffers from a lot more psychological issues than you manages to find some hot dude who swears his undying love to her, so will you. You try to disregard the fact that the book was written by a woman and has more illogical flaws to the storyline than any writer/director could possibly ignore. Especially the fact that the man in the story is hot, nice and faithful.

Then, suddenly, it dawns on you that you’ve become a sarcastic bitch to cover up the fact that your favorite feel good movie is “We Bought a Zoo” because Matt Damon as a single dad is utterly irresistible and your dream of having the perfect family is completely illogical when looking at your past endeavors in the dating field. So you decide to write a new list of what you want in a man that starts with “He gets me and he loves me…” and ends with “P.S. he can also dance and he does have a six-pack” “P.P.S. He’s not an addict, criminal, psychologically unstable, manic depressive, prone to snoring, bad in bed, living in a different country or with his mother permanently, fucking anyone I know, unfaithful, or prone to any other potentially damaging thing.”

It sucks having a gooey heart, protected by walls of sarcasm three stories high, doesn’t it? It sucks even more trying to let go of the walls and be like “Here I am. Matt Damon fantasies and all.”

Writing down all my dirty fantasies. I mean I’m sure Matt Damon had to take care of a lot of mud in that zoo….

Sensual…

Can’t believe I will be in London in two weeks!!! Eeeek. I’m so excited to go and yet it feels so weird as my life is here now and just realizing that feels weird. Sometimes things change…you change…but you don’t really know how until you meet your past and I think London will be like that. Similarly, when I come back here I will have perspective on my life here. That’s partly why I love traveling – it allows you to get away from where you are so as to have gained perspective by the time you get back. It also allows you to go back to places and discover in yourself what has changed. Even if you don’t move countries every two seconds like I’ve been known to, you can go on vacation one year, only to return the next and see everything in a new light, or experience yourself differently.

Having just moved here it’s also an emotional journey to go back and see lots of close friends and family knowing that I will return to the very beginnings of establishing a life here. I love my life here though, it’s just not filled with close friends yet. It will be, but it takes time and as we all know: sometimes we want our friends around. I’m very happy here though. I feel like I finally wake up to my dreams in the mornings. That doesn’t mean things are perfect, or that I don’t face demons, or get stressed at times, but I love my life and I love myself a lot more. I keep asking myself what my dream life is and taking obvious steps to making it happen and I mean obvious steps that will transform my life now, as well as those that will lead to something in the future. It’s like you know how you think “once I have that fat pay check I will take the time and money to have lunch at a restaurant every day,” but that fat pay check may never come. So now if I have an idea like that I may decide to have lunch out once a week, or once a month. Not that, that happens to be my dream, but you know what I mean. By doing these small things, together with being happy with where I live, with the people I have met and the work I do, I  feel like I have a life. My life.

It feels almost sensual you know. Not hot and dirty, but that soft relaxation that allows you to taste the air and smell the ocean. The experience of life becomes sensual because all your senses are engaged in it. In the now. In the moment.

Pure life…magic…

Roleplaying? Let’s ride that horse!

Have you got the saddle and the whip ready? OK, ‘cuz here we go – this post is coming at you at dramatic speed, with just the right amount of naughty suspension… (…that’s to say I’m just about to do a moral/philosophical/spiritual preaching session, but I will cover it up with a naughty headline and sexual introduction and leave you with a happy ending… There, are you aroused? Good, now let’s move on to the real juicy bits, the crux of the crux so to speak…)

I remember my principal at acting school telling us the story of how he asked a student what they would be willing to do to become a great actor? They said anything, including chopping off a finger. He asked them if they were willing to remove their piercings and wear neutral clothes for a while. The answer was no. The idea of giving up their identity was terrible to them, yet it’s the basics of acting. See, in order to become a great actor you have to be willing to let go of your ego. You have to be willing to step into any person’s mind and act out their thoughts without any hold backs. You cannot let your thoughts impact the character. In other words: whether you are acting the nerdiest nerd, the most arrogant twat, the gothiest goth, a politician, a whore, a criminal…you have to put your own thoughts about the character aside and willingly think the thoughts of the character.

You can’t act a well meaning politician at the same time as you think all politicians are lying bastards. In the same way if you are wearing the most hideous outfit you have ever seen and the character thinks it is great, walking around really proud, you can’t let your own thoughts get in the way and start feeling ashamed in front of the audience. A good actor can let go of their thoughts and embrace the character. Most people if they are so fond of their piercings, hairstyles and clothes that they can’t walk around town wearing no jewelry and completely neutral clothes, hair and make-up, will probably find acting very difficult, because it means they are using their style to make them feel good.

I know all these things and yet I sometimes find myself desperately holing onto my attitude – holding onto wearing clothes that I believe put me in a good light, or behaving in ways that are complete acts, whilst I’m covering my heart. To stand firmly grounded with an open heart, without the use of any kind of wardrobe or props is still work in progress for me. When there are daunting situations it just feels so much better to be armed with stilettos, crack jokes at the speed of lightning and do an intellectual play of words, just so as to confuse and outsmart people. It feels so good to radiate confidence and look the part, doesn’t it? Other times I feel much more safe hiding in a corner than dealing with a group of people if I know some people in the group dislike me. Standing up for myself would mean confrontation and that means I would have to face their dislike. Face their dislike, honestly acknowledge if there are things about me I should change (valid criticism) and at the same time be completely grounded in my love for myself and them as human beings. Not easy. If I’m a teacher, or director, it’s easy, because I’m detached – I’m there to make sure they learn, or act. I’m in a position of power, of strength and I make sure to do my job as neutral as I can. I’m also very confident in those positions, as I trust my professional capabilities, if not my personal ones. If it’s on a personal level, I feel 12 years old and bullied, or as if I’m facing my former step-mother, both which are memories I’m not very fond of. Which is my second point to all this: for all my knowledge about being neutral and seeing life and people for what they truly are, I still act from the place of a character, rather than from my heart.

So, dear readers, I guess what I’m saying is that it’s time to let go a bit of attitude, or quiet reserve, and open my heart and give of myself, as well as stand up for myself. On a personal level. After all, if you think about it – if you can’t let go of thoughts about what the other person thinks of you, or what you are doing to them when having sex, will you ever truly enjoy the act? Whether you are riding them on a saddle, or doing the traditional missionary. Can you ever truly experience anything if you don’t let go of your ego? If you don’t immerse yourself completely in the act, instead of thinking of memories, or having things from your past triggered by the present? If you don’t leave judgement of self by the door? Can you ever see reality if you don’t let your ego go?

Passionate reveries…

During childhood there were numerous asthma attacks, bullies, my mother’s death, my step mom’s somewhat peculiar sentiments toward myself and my sister and a constant shyness and fear of people thanks to my crushed self-confidence, but there was also the love of my father, sister and grandparents, as well as other relatives and friends, and there was the sailing boat and France. Later there was my best friend, dancing, cameras and notepads. These were my rocks, my pillars of strength. Of course there were also stories, as nine times out of ten I had my head stuck in a book, but they were a bit less animated (although plenty alive in my imagination). I believe you see the result of all those stories in this blog on a weekly basis – without them it’s unlikely I would have turned to writing in the first place.  The fact that I actually work as a writer today still strikes me as fantastical, but it is probably what people would have deemed most likely, as although I dabbled in all fine and performing arts, writing and photography are the ones that seem to possess me and which come together in directing. Stories and creative ideas tend to haunt me, which sometimes make me swear and stomp around in agitation, but I must confess that I have no idea of what life would be like without these passionate ghosts of mine. Empty is the word that springs to mind. As possessed as I may be by my own ideas and as much as I have spent lord knows how many hours in confused fury not understanding how to execute them all, I really, honestly believe my life would be nothing without them and hereby profusely excuse myself for all the times I have sworn over them (if that sentence doesn’t quite add up, don’t worry. I’m inventing my language).

One of my more recent ideas, as of this evening in fact, is the idea that I should write a blog about some of my pillars of support growing up, some of the greatest loves of my life. I had this idea researching an article about France, as I was faced with one of these pillars, namely France itself. My colleague at work last year used to laugh at me as I always switched to a French radio station during hours of stress as I claimed it calmed me down and it probably did. I can feel my blood pressure sink as soon as I hear the familiar and homely sound of French voices and French tunes, especially the older ones. The only thing that potentially raises my blood pressure is French grammar as I find it ridiculously difficult, but it still fails to tarnish a country that was always my second home, my place to return to. Just writing this I’ve already started taking deep breaths and relaxing.

I did not intend to write about France just yet though, as I still have paid articles to finish on the subject. What I intended to do was to talk about the fact that I intend to write about it. About France, my grandparents and sailing. Three very solid pillars in my childhood. Three things that no other influence managed to tarnish. Maybe it’s because my dad has just sold off my grandparents house and apartment in Sweden and although I live in Cape Town I still feel a pang of….of reluctance as I feel like one of my homes have disappeared. Two, if we shall be exact. A big part of my life has been erased. Their time share in Menton was sold already the other year, but luckily I did not invest my love of France into that one flat. My grandparents are, as you can now probably tell, the reason why I ended up loving France in the first place, although my dad has influenced me in that area also, as he picked up on their love (and a few French cheeses whilst at it).

I really missed my grandma the other day. Not her ability to correct my French verbs, although that was useful, but just…her. As I now looked up my eyes ended up on her old sewing kit, which I brought with me to Cape Town. God knows the old metal box has seen better days, but the sense of familiarity of having it around is akin to the feeling of France, the feeling of home. This week she crossed my mind as I was playing with one of my mentorship kiddos, little Mr T, one of the twins. He was in a weird mood and spent all day at crèche as close to me as he could get and at that time he was climbing on the swing/climbing structure and looking at him, the memory of my gran flashed through my mind and I desperately wanted her to see him, to experience the kids that are now such a big part of my life. I know she would have understood and been proud of me. She was always the one that got me, or maybe she made me me. It’s hard to tell which way the story goes. I’m now fighting tears which is the problem about writing about my grandma, because as much as I honor everything she gave me, I still miss her enough to cry a river. Not unlike my best friend, she’s in pretty much everything I do – as in she would have understood my sentiments exactly, but that doesn’t mean I always contemplate it. All the same I believe I need to start remembering her more often and come to terms with it. Not least because it makes me remember why I am loved. It makes me remember my good qualities and that in turn makes me forget to try to impress by being someone I’m not. Something well worth bearing in mind when new in town. You go through endless meetings until you have your support network formed and sometimes I find myself babbling hysterically to someone who couldn’t give two cents.

So ladies and gents, I will present to you a series of blogs about what made me, me. The lovely things that made me, me. I haven’t yet decided all they will entail, but France, my grandparents and sailing are currently topping the list. I have a feeling my best friend, my soul mate (of one degree or another, there are so many confusing soul mate theories out there), will make an appearance. Dance, the theater and filmmaking might also sweep by, with performances from jesters and fools. Cooking, Morocco and naughty magic as well as children in need and Africa (or untamed adventures if you so like) will potentially play various parts too. Let’s call it the passion project.

Parisian, oh so Parisian…

Kisses and sex are so gonna save the world…

A little bit of sex every day keeps the doctor away. Seriously. It’s 100% based on scientific research – sex helps with almost anything, so long as it’s the loving, happy kind. Which means that being single and all I should probably be having the flu right now was it not for this blog with my extraordinary sexual metaphors. Nothing better to perk up the day. Besides, it’s my firm belief that many small streams make a river, meaning one apple, one sexual fantasy and one organic body product later, you and Mother Earth are a lot better off than if you ignored those three things. Saving yourself and the planet is only half as hard as it seems.

During the weekend, apart from some social engagements and discovering new parts of Cape Town, I was engrossed in a book series (Fallen Star) and when I get swept away by a story, I get swept away. This is why I know I shouldn’t read books during the week, because I won’t put them down. I have absolutely no self-discipline when it comes to good stories. Now you may, erm, not really think the story I was reading was uhm very good. It was sort of similar to Twilight with a few magic tricks from Harry Potter kind of thing, but I really enjoyed it. Then again I loved Twilight and Harry Potter, so there we go (we are talking the books, not the movies). So anyway, there was a lot of fighting vampires and witches and what have you so as to save the world. Naturally they had to save the world. And I kinda wondered what it would be like? To save the world that is.

This morning I had to leave the vampires behind to head to the crèche with lunch for my mentorship kiddos as usual. I discovered one wasn’t there though – he was at Child Welfare with the principal as he had shown up blue in the face. Beaten in other words. On my way back home I called the principal to check how things were and if she needed a lift. She just told me that would be good and we needed to talk. So I drove over there and was rewarded by a very happy four-year – with a black eye – running up to me to be lifted up and carried away. It was the best moment of my day. As the story goes he had been putting something in his ear (he is going through the wanting to put everything in his ears and nose phase – my housemate was nonplussed by this statement, but if you have ever spent time with kids, you probably know what I mean) and as he would not stop the mother was panicking and smacked him and by mistake a lot harder than intended. Then to topple it all off she tried committing suicide this morning.

I was not a little bit upset, I was a lot upset. I went grocery shopping for the kids’ families, as they don’t have any food at home and well, the twins are looked after by their grandma’s sister and their mom tends to steal whatever she has in the house as she’s an addict and little Ts mom has no food in the house either and being broke and hungry was part of her despair. So I went shopping, but part of my brain was preoccupied with wondering what will happen to T. I mean the twins’ family is apparently having some sort of family meeting soon to decide what happens to the twins when their grandma’s sister passes away and the general idea was apparently to discuss if they were going to give them to me, which clearly right now I can’t really afford, so then where would they end up? So I have this paranoia that something will happen to her, or to Ts mom and voila now it was happening. Anyway, when I came back to the crèche I found out that the principal and T went with his mom to the police and the hospital. Then I had to wait hours for the verdict and it appears what’s gonna happen is that T is having an operation tomorrow as he needs to get out whatever he put in his ear and his mom has to turn herself in to the police and then she will be back in a recovery program for the organization I work with and weekly reports will be given to the authorities. From what I know she has a very difficult life – she’s suffered blows, but I believe she needs to learn to take responsibility for her life and change things, rather than blame things. That’s ultimately what brings you joy. It’s difficult when you don’t see that you can do that though. When you see no light in the end of the tunnel and starvation doesn’t necessarily help. I just wish everyone would know that it is possible to change, to create change and that we all come together as pillars of support for one another because change is difficult and we could all do with support.

I talk about the three Ts because those are the kids I mentor, but you have to understand that 80% of the kids at that crèche, if not more, come from families that are either starving, or having problems, or both. Part of my shock today was that I wasn’t more shocked, or that I didn’t demand T to be taken away from his mom. I was more concerned she got help, as it doesn’t feel fair to just snatch kids away and leave the parents to doom and gloom – sometimes I think I shouldn’t be helping the kids, but the parents. And to me these stories are normal – drugs, abuse, HIV, crime, no food…I hear about it every day. I have about 30 kids competing for my attention, sometimes beating each other to get near me, to get a hug, to sit in my lap. Sometimes I fall over when too many kids tackle me at the same time. I see them having crisps for lunch and begging for more porridge in the morning. Yet, because I see so much love and caring, laughter and playfulness, not to mention naughtiness, part of me forgets. I see kids having a good time even if their clothes are dirty and filled with holes and some of them have scars I really don’t believe they should have.

I intended to write a blog about Earth Day today. About saving yourself and the planet. About using Eco friendly cleaning and body products, buying non-GMO, pesticide free food, free range meat and using electricity sparingly. Potentially I would mention over population and reproducing responsibly. I would definitively say that if we all buy one organic apple a year, that’s a couple of billion apples for the organic industry. That every little becomes a lot when we come together. That every Eco friendly bottle of shampoo will detox you and the planet. Then I found out the thing about little T and I couldn’t think straight for hours, I still don’t know what to think and feel, and somewhere in between organic apples and fighting vampires to save the world I realized that in the real world maybe there aren’t any vampires, but there is Monsanto, plenty of criminals and plenty of suffering, so saving the world is quite easy – you just start where you see it most necessary, whether buying non-GMO corn, or rehabilitating criminals. I wondered what it felt like saving the world, but I’m already doing it. Sure, I can do more. I can get more efficient and better at things to reach bigger results, but at least when I delivered food at the creche today, when I drove down to pick up little T and the principal and when I was buying groceries for the kids’ families I was, somehow, saving the world. If just a little bit. And maybe I still feel bad for not having enough money, or resources should I say, to either support him, his mom and his brother, as they all need help, but at least I’m doing something.

What hit me today after having a cup of tea – white magic that is as it shifts you from problem to solution – is that I don’t have to suffer. I feel bad about what happened, but suffering in sympathy is not the solution. Me being unhappy is not going to help neither little T, nor his mom. And looking back at the days when I was bullied in school with zero self-confidence all I would have needed was a hug, or two… Hugs to clarify that I was loved. Hugs to clarify there was nothing wrong with me, I wasn’t bad, or unlovable. I was huggable. If someone would have explained that to me, my life would have been very different. I hope I can explain this to the kids. That they are gorgeous and lovable and underneath the scars they are already developing, scars that can lead to problematic behavior patterns, they have a heart. And that heart is their true home, their true essence. It’s for that heart they should be loved and it is that heart they need to set free to be loved and to enjoy life.

Turn on the bright energy-saving light bulbs guys and step into the spotlight -  take action, vote for a better tomorrow. Right now. Have a cup of tea to unleash your white magic solutions. One organic apple at the time and one more sex fantasy to get your blood rushing and your health going strong! Please make sure to kiss people too as that will release their endorphins and hence you have totally save their lives…and don’t forget to hug people! We need hugs to keep going, to keep fighting with love. We need hugs to stay strong when the sea is a stormy blur of darkness. We need hugs because the only thing worth fighting for is love and the only thing worth living for is love. If the whole world was taught to love I doubt we would need to save it, because we would already be living in harmony with it.

If you are ever interested in coming to South Africa to help, whether with CARES whom I work for with drug prevention and rehabilitation, or the Little Angels crèche, please get in touch. An hour a week to teach the kids or adults is a wonderful donation. I will also be doing movie projects out here that double up as community projects, so if you are in movies hola. Funds (whether one dollar or thousands, seriously anything helps), blankets, educational toys, cooking equipment, food, clothes, stationary and anything else you can think to donate is also much appreciated.

If you only have one go, you better hurry to save the world…and we all know to save a Princess you have to kiss her…you see, all those endorphins are trapped in her brain and if you don’t kiss her, they won’t be set free to roam around and make her happy! Go on then. Rescue the damsels in distress out there!

The ultimate sex fantasy…

What is the ultimate sex fantasy? Is it a certain thing? Or is it just to completely relax, surrender and let your heart take you exactly where you want to go without any holding back? Is it ultimate freedom?

I took two of the kids I mentor on an outing yesterday – I took the two boys to the library, an organic shop that has a Thursday market and Llandadno beach. One of them did not want to listen to “do not push any buttons and sit properly in the car.” The rule is if you don’t listen, get a warning and still don’t listen, you don’t come with on the next outing. That’s why the little girl wasn’t with this time. After all of them behaving really nicely last week, she played with her seat belt on the way back. I’m trying to explain to them I don’t make weird rules just because, but the rules we have is for their own safety. I don’t like adults exercising power over kids just because, or without explanation. You hear that a lot when out and about “don’t touch this, don’t do that, don’t ask questions” and they don’t necessarily point out why (they might in all fairness have pointed that out beforehand) nor do they always have a reason why themselves. Point being, taking care of these kids I often question myself – am I a good mothers figure? Are the rules I’m setting up OK? Are my reactions when I’m out with them OK? Am I still just “taming” them rather than making them think for themselves? Just because I can’t pay to feed them a proper GAPS and raw food diet, is that bad of me? Surely a whole foods diet is better than crisps, but am I not putting in enough effort with it? Am I perfect enough?

You see I always imagined that when I have kids around that I look after I’m living this perfect life in a nice Eco house, with a large garden and herbal garden, I have a lovely husband, I have a very scheduled day and I have proper traditions in place for everything, from hot chocolate Sundays, to Christmas and I will know all those educational games and crafts things we will do together. Well guess what? I’m neither rich, nor married, but I do live in a natural home with a garden and I have planted five herbs in it (so there, I do have an herbal garden LOL). I don’t have it all together, but I’m trying to put another piece of the puzzle together every day. No, there’s not fresh Kombucha on the table yet, but I have the ingredients and the jar ready to go (and Kombucha clearly is essential for a household…well, you know at least my dream household because yummy mummies have all those things they want to have all ready to go, always, no?! LOL). No, I don’t know all the amazing recipes I wanna know, all the educational games and the crafts project. I most certainly am not married. Single appears to be the notorious case of my relationship status and funnily enough I care less about it now. I guess I feel rather fulfilled, because as a matter of fact every day it seems I do more. I do learn new recipes. I do learn about education. I do work as a writer with decent assignments, if yet there are mountains to climb. I do work with underprivileged kids and I do have some that I mentor and who could become my family, should I choose to walk that path and raise the money to do so. And somehow this has all calmed me down and made me feel fulfilled. On the other hand, I don’t yet have a proper social life in Cape Town, so it’s sort of made me wake up to that as well, because I need friends and support.

There are other things as well I have been contemplating – my ADD habits and how bad I am at certain things. I’m blessed in some areas, a mess in others. Thinking of mentoring the kids kind of makes you think about what kind of role model you are. Like when I sleep in now I’m like shit – had, I had kids I could not have done that. Does that mean I’m not ready for this? Does that make me “bad?” I’m terrible with paperwork and time keeping, so clearly I’m not a responsible adult. I can fill out a form three times and still miss things and I mess things up in my mind all the time, so I’m bad right? I was always told I was bad because of this, so clearly I’m not responsible enough. Never mind that I try doing something about my bad habits, the one day I miss doing a work out, or fail and don’t live in “perfection” I get angry with myself. And of course I’m not perfect, so I fail all the time with sticking to things and oh my God. I don’t have a pattern of wanting to punish myself at all or anything. OH MY GOD I have a pattern of wanting to punish myself, oh now I’m really seriously bad…oh my God. When I was younger I literally wanted to run into a wall when I fucked up, I really hated myself for it and wanted pain, not that I ever did that, but seriously I had those thoughts and now I’m dealing with kids, seriously, I’m really bad. See what I mean? That’s my brain for you. And since deciding to deal with the kids I seriously had to face this oh my God I’m feeling inadequate pattern.

I was reading the Mommypotamus blog the other day and looking at eco houses and that’s when I really came to see this pattern. I had a freak show about not having everything “all together,” or rather discovering what a freak show I have been having and starting to unraveling it and letting go of it. And it’s truly bizarre because I probably have it more together than most. Apart from my ADD patterns and wanting to punish myself and judging myself, I believe I’m quite good. Actually. It’s just my perfectionist and not good enough belief that’s screwing with my head. Truly that’s the reason why I’m single as well. When I meet someone I like I’m so petrified I’m not good enough and perfect enough that I start disliking myself and the idea of going into a relationship or fall in love only to once more prove to myself I’m not good enough, not perfect enough hasn’t been appealing. I lose track of myself when I start caring about people’s opinions. So having come to the point where I’m fairly OK with myself when I’m with myself and friends, I kind of guess I wanted to keep the status quo, especially as whenever I ventured into trying I failed. I did only manage to prove I wasn’t good enough once more.

I guess I’ve always had habits I’ve used as an excuse to feel bad about myself. Fact is, there are some things I’m no good at, like filling in paperwork – last year when working as a sales manager I was always in trouble – I always missed something. Especially when I had read through it three times and was really proud thinking I’d done a good job. People would get angry that I didn’t concentrate, but thought I had my full attention on the task – and proof read it three times. Not to mention my own panic. I felt like I couldn’t trust myself, because for example – I would put everything together on my desk, preparing to leave and structuring my things so as to remember everything. Then I would happily leave without the envelop I had placed on top of my desk so as NOT to forget to post it. Now certain of these things I learnt to manage, because they were habits. If you always put the keys in the same place you will remember them, but all of life is not a habit. In an office there’s new things all the time and you can’t habitualize them.

I worked in an office for over a year and that made me humble, because I had to face my shortcomings every day and after a while I had to somehow try to kick myself out of feeling bad about them, because some things I couldn’t change and I became better at a lot of the things I could change. It was still trying, because I couldn’t trust myself not to miss details. Then suddenly I was working as a freelance writer and people loved my writing. That’s not to say I haven’t missed deadlines and mixed things up. Still happens. Still makes me feel bad.  When I was forced, due to an article I was writing, reading up about ADD I had to humbly admit to the fact that I have pretty much every symptom of it and I don’t even believe in ADD, because most people they say can’t concentrate can concentrate. Maybe just not in the same ways.  I came to realize some of us have brains that work differently and some of that can’t and shouldn’t be changed, because our brain works that way because it’s great with something else. As humiliated as I felt reading about all those symptoms and ticking off the list, I also felt relieved, because the anger I have had to encounter with the years and all those “you’re just not responsible enough” kind of felt less hurtful.

I’m learning to structure my days. I’m learning to respect and love myself. I’m learning to value my talents. I’m learning that I can’t and don’t have to be great at everything. I do have to learn to discipline myself in certain areas, but at the same time I have to appreciate what my somewhat chaotic mind manages to come up with. I will also have to learn to respect and appreciate others and not, if I’m having PMS, have a complete tantrum if they say they are against Monsanto and manage to eat GMO corn at the same time, or try to convince me they care about the planet whilst smoking cigarettes and feeding their kids non-organic meat with weird preservatives, because my perfectionist hysteria tends to have two pet peeves – health and nature and if I’m in a bad mood I believe people are personally insulting me by poisoning themselves and the planet.

I realized there won’t be a one year vacation when I build my eco-home, learn to cook all the perfect foods (raw foods and whole foods), finally finish writing my book and come up with ideas and educational games that will entertain the kids till they’re eighteen, so that after that year everything would be ready and good to go. Or maybe I could do that if I left my volunteer work and my gorgeous home, said goodbye to entertainment and locked myself up in a tiny room somewhere – then I could work non-stop for a year and take a year sabbatical afterwards. That’s not gonna happen. Even if I did I would continue to learn and grow, so perfection would never be achievable anyway. Only idiots believe they’ve learnt all there is to know and they can’t go further. Perfection is an illusion. We are evolving every day if we are only humble enough to acknowledge the mistakes of the past and learn from the lessons. Admit that we aren’t perfect. And maybe more so than anything you have to teach kids to learn. To grow. To evolve.

So yes folks, I have perfectionist issues, I’m rather messy with certain things and it’s no good speaking to me about Monsanto if I have PMS – I may not have a loud tantrum as such, but my world will fall to pieces and if you smoke you will have me in tears as my mom died from cancer and how could anyone wish that upon themselves, or force their loved ones to watch them die? I have a few scars in that department. Not that I would necessarily show you that, but that’s how I’d feel. But having said all that I have some amazing talents, I left to set up my dream life in Cape Town, I have a career that I enjoy, I live in a dream home, I work with kids which was always my dream, I’m fairly healthy and I really do my best to understand kids and how to raise them. I do my best to live from my heart. So maybe I’m like OK you know. Maybe I even deserve having a boyfriend and kids. Maybe getting my work in magazines and on silver screens too. Could give it a go I suppose once I’ve managed to structure my days to fit it all in. Mmmm. Maybe there’s hope for me after all?! Maybe I don’t have to be great at everything to allow myself to enjoy my life? Maybe I can just sit back and love…and step up and follow my heart. Without judging. Just follow my heart. Absolutely free. Maybe…

I see the irony in this, because I have to learn routine and scheduling, but at the same time the judgments, the holding back instead of letting it flow…that’s the adventure. Being stuck inside your ever so criminal mind, that’s prison. Heart is freedom. Following your heart, trusting you can do it. Setting yourself free to do that. Then the routines and schedules ou truly need will fall into place and the ones you have to feel secure, or the routine of breaking them to feel bad, will disappear. Freedom is your heart.

There is no nice way of putting lube in a headline, is there?! Not enough friction…

I just got what felt like half a bucket of car wax over me, so lubed up and ready I might as well jump straight into my next writing escapade…or as in this case: I can have another sip of wine, sit back and post the material I stole from a friend of mine. OK, stole might be a tad over dramatic. He emailed me about it. He was thinking about me when it happened, so he sent me a message to tell me about it and I decided it needed to go on this blog, because sure as…sure as…stars in the night sky there are things that move us forward as seamlessly as lubed up cars gliding through traffic (am I mixing my metaphors? Not at all. Surely). You know things that pull you forward effortlessly, even if the path is never effortless.

Those things that move us forward are what I call true matters of the heart. Following your intuition. Letting passion speak to you. Most people don’t get into this lubed up business as they get a bit frightened that the mortgage won’t get paid, or they simply think so much about the mortgage they forget to sit down and listen to their heart and work out a way to pay their mortgage using their heart. Once they take a moment though, their hearts will tell them where they truly want to go. And if they start walking that path little things will happen that will make their hearts sing and they will feel like lubed up cars gliding through traffic on a joyous ride. (This really is a grosse metaphor. I blame it on driving past too many gas stations in the U.S. signposting their lube, combined with the bottle of lube I was recently wearing…I mean, bottle of car wax…)

I promise my friend does not speak like me. He will not use sexual innuendo and lubed up cars (gross…but you know what I mean? When you just glide through things seamlessly, like a well oiled car…) to convey his message. He does have a lynx as a pet though. That makes up for any lack of sex in this blog.

So here I was about an hour ago, dropping my daughter off at drama class, which happens to be in the most elite part of town. All this while wondering what I’m doing and questioning where this path in life is taking me. Wondering why I have closed my jewelery business and now helping poor orphaned kids and campaigning for animals, so far from where my career started. Questions and anxiety amidst the chaos of my mind, surrounded by opulent wealth in end of the day bustle of cars and big houses.

At this moment I was stuck in traffic outside one of the private expensive schools, and suddenly this kid comes charging across the road dodging the traffic, smiling and frantically waving at me. Only when I saw the drawing in his hand did I realize that it was one of the orphaned boys from the orphanage from the other side of town!

It was all surreal…this upper class area for the rich kids, and one of the orphans from Sinethemba running out of the gates with his artwork straight toward me. One of the kids that only a few weeks back we were making a documentary about with one of the biggest fundraisers in the U.S. A documentary that might help change their lives.

I wonder how many of the children at that privileged private school had any idea where he was going to sleep tonight, huddled into a couple of rooms with twenty others and only one toilet in the worst area of town.

This was an ‘epiphany’ moment…the answer had come charging out of the most unexpected place!

At this very moment the sun was setting as a huge beautiful crimson ball above, through heavenly clouds…it was a very loud answer. – Sean Austin (Want to see those big cats he deals with? Check out his Facebook page!)

That my dear friends is what I’m talking about. How when you go for what you love you suddenly encounter these wonderful moments that make you feel like you glide through traffic (I’m going to leave out the metaphor about the…) and meet yourself along the way. Meet your own heart. See it like a reflection in the mirror. See the most valued part of yourself come alive. That. That my dear friends is priceless and funnily enough a goldsmith encountered something truly priceless, now that is priceless indeed!