Don’t do the things I would do

It’s a really weird time in the world and where we once found it necessary to slow down and take a deep breath, today, deep breaths are plenty. Hearts are fuller – either from being closer than ever to your loved ones or being farther than ever to their magical hugs. Where once we made decisions on the run, today, reflections are standing their ground. In this existential crisis, there’s thought before action, and even after it. More than ever, there is a candid affair with this new-found friend – TIME. Probably casual, probably temporary, but definitely worth it. As every feeling is felt with deeper consciousness and every moment can be seen passing, experiences seem enhanced somehow – the good, the bad and the ugly. For many of us, it’s been a time to stop, refresh & reanalyse. For many of us, it hasn’t been straight forward and while we strive to flatten a global curve, we are flattening our own life curves laboriously. It’s what I call the sine curve of existence.

A little bit of context is in order, I feel.

Over the years, this blog has been that place where I’ve come to remind myself where my strengths lie. It’s the brave, new me. The one who has come a long winding way, growing both personally and professionally. It’s been a place meant to inspire. Positive and intentional. With feelers of love and hope. It hasn’t been scripted or content strategised to be that way, but, the power of believing in the existence of good in a bad place has been my modus operandi. Open wounds, insecurities, fears, judgements, disillusionment, compulsive negativity, depression, regret, and losing the will to fight – talking about these never made anybody happy. But, it doesn’t mean that they don’t exist in people who resolve to see beyond them. Internally, we give up time and again. But, we stand back up for the ones who stand with us. A lot of fulfilment comes from acceptance of what can be and what can’t, where your weaknesses will get you and where your will will take you, who stays by you and who you can never trust. A greater fulfilment comes from knowing that you kept your grace (at most times, if not all) even at your lowest points.

But what about the highest points?

To me, it’s the highest points that call out danger. Highs and lows are relative experiences. The lower you’ve been, the higher you’ll go. The lowest you’ve seen will always be a measure to the rush you feel when joy hits you in an unexpected place. You pamper yourself with joy because you feel you deserve it so bad. Because obviously, the balance must be restored somehow. All the strength you held inside you in that storm – that’s a strength you want to keep aside for sometime – holding on to it was all-consuming for a while. There’s wisdom in the storm, but somehow that wisdom is limited to bad tidings. There’s self-indulgence where there should be self-care – and no, you’re not naive to be blinded by it. You see it and you tell yourself – ‘I need to let go. Moderation can wait.’ You tell yourself that these highs are temporary and this happiness that fills your heart is a feeling you must cherish while it lasts. Because life has taught you that it might slip away one fine morning. For now, excessive is normal. It’s acceptable. It’s deserved. It’s only fair. All the reg flags are there, but you think you have time before you must abort mission rogue.

Tell me this hasn’t happened to you? Ever? In the slightest? That time you fell so in love on rebound. Or partied too hard. Or smoked too much. Drank because it felt like the greatest escape. Shopped like a maniac because you felt you earned it. Binged ate and binged watched. Became anti-social or overtly social. Worked too hard because it was a distraction. Chased money or success. Let a love-sick mind take big decisions. Became a compulsive attention seeker. Stepped on somebody’s else piece of pie. How many times have you honestly looked at yourself and known that excessive is becoming the new normal for you – and that the time bomb is quietly ticking in the dark.

Now I know that sounds fucked-up. But, let’s not be so quick to judge or be so hard on ourselves. We all believe that we deserve a certain deal from what we are dealt. Oftentimes, life throws curveballs and the game is reversed. The cards are all mixed up. There is no pure sequence. No joker. And then suddenly, the next card you’re dealt is a piece of the 7th heaven. It completes a sequence, it calls for a new story, a new chance. It floods an empty space. So you bet double. And then ten-fold. Until you are barely left with anything but some remnant pride. You plunge – knowing all too well this is a gamble, but believing in that good fortune because you deserve it don’t you? A gift for all that has been. It’s empathy vs self-pity – the emotions are confusing. Terribly misplaced. There are moments of delirium. And then, like a rude shock, somebody declares three aces. Somebody who isn’t you. You were waiting on this day while you began putting up that excessive house of cards. You always knew it wasn’t sustainable. And, crash landing now…

Back to the lows. Back to the sine curve. The periodic oscillation of up-down-up.

Nobody is above and beyond this process. But, some of these lessons stay on for posterity – only one glitch here – you can’t learn it from me. You’ll do it in your own time.

And yet I would say (like Tony Stark says to Peter Parker) –

‘Don’t do the things I would do, and definitely don’t do the things I wouldn’t do.’

• 

Stay home, keep your loves safe. And, if they are away from you, remind them often that they are so very loved. Let the continuous waves of up-down-ups not dim your inner light. If it’s a dark time, you’re probably on the side of the moon where the best music lives. With it, you’ll live to fight another day.

Until next time,

XOXO

Circles

I never really understood what coming a full circle means. I mean, how do you know the circle is complete? When do you know that you are ready to take your twig to the beach, and start over with new circles?

I suppose some would call it closure, or acceptance, or moving on, or realising a dream, a vision, a goal. Or starting where they left off. Or maybe even, finding something that was lost. A person, a feeling, a spirit. Coming to terms with change. Understanding that it was for the best. And finally realising that everything is exactly the same now as it was when you began. Except that, you aren’t.

Beginnings always hide themselves in ends.

And mostly, you can’t tell one from the other. At least, until a certain time. Beginnings, ends, phases in between – their territories are often murky. There are highs like never before, and lows like never before. There are fragments of peace, of limbo, of waiting for the next runway train to hit or the desert storm to leave you blinded. But, the highs – those are the most confusing, most fulfilling fragments. A high is a high because it has a trigger. A catalyst that fuels the trigger. And as long as the trigger and the catalyst are something you can control, something that is real or tangible, you are in a safe place. A happy high. Minus the trigger, can you still find your happy place? I’m not too sure. You can never really be sure. Until the day that trigger is you. Something inside you.

The lows, they have triggers and reasons too. But, more often than not, in this period of steady, slow, unperturbed change, they become self-inflicted. Living in the memory of a bad feeling. Putting your mind and body in the same situation that you know is going to leave you free falling – and not in a nice way.

Hopping between these surreal worlds of love, hate, regret, acceptance, anger, remorse, loss, strength, joy, calm, hope – can be tiring, confusing and may seem fantastically pointless. Compartmentalising, practicality, conviction, maturity – suddenly you need to put them all into grand perspective. Something that seems impossible because you simply feel so so tired. Love, life and everything in between will hit you with a few shots of dopamine every now and then, but like a shot of coke, its temporary. Nobody is naive enough to be unconditionally happy anymore. And so, the circle remains half-doodled.

Here comes your constant. A constant against which you measure your truth. Something that helps you absorb the reality around you and the surreality inside you. Something that is neutral ground. Positive. Not something that helps you escape, but something that helps you stay. Not something that you can’t do without, but something that adds beauty to what you already have (and we all have something to live for, so let’s not go there). Something that should never be perfect, but something that you can live with for at least a while. Nothing too intense, because there you may be unintentionally crossing the fine line between staying and escaping. Something super solid. Stronger & saner than how you feel right now.

After the constant, comes the most beautiful phase. Where all of the confusion, although still surging, comes with some answers. There is a little more clarity, a little more living in the moment, a little less conversation, a little more silence – the good kind. The switch between the highs and lows are fewer, calmer, more organic. There’s some balance within. It’s easier to see what’s real and what’s a part of the game you’ve made up.

This, by no means completes the circle. And this by no means promises that your constant is here to stay. Things are always ambiguous – dynamic – floating. The constant may stay, or go or change into something else, someone else. You may come back full circle to the place that made you or the place that broke you. But, there won’t be a definite end or a sure-shot beginning. No perfect circles. Just a lot of in betweens. Some tolerable, some not.

Finding a place to plant your feet (and your heart) in the in betweens, is what endurance is all about. It’s not that ‘nothing is permanent’ – it’s simply that ‘we want nothing permanently’.

You change. They change. The world around you changes. None of it is because of you, for you or without you.

The trick is to get as much ending as possible into your beginning.

Until next time,

XOXO

Here comes the Sun

Those who can’t sing, find a song to love. And eventually, find someone to love the song with.

Tell me you haven’t fallen in love with someone who said ‘take a sad song and make it better’, when you were sulky. Or, ‘there will be an answer, let it be’, when you felt overwhelmed. Or ‘I want to hold your hand’, on that very first date. Or ‘you give love a bad name’, when you had a fight. Or ‘wish you were here’, when you were missed. Or ‘we’ll be counting stars’, on a beautiful moolit stroll. Or ‘you are my fire, the one desire’ as a cheesy pick-up line. Or ‘when you held my hand, I knew it was now or never’, just after your first kiss. I mean if someone talks in song lyrics – what else can do you? Except say ‘Love me do’ and feel ‘on top of the world’. Because ‘sweet child of mine’, you’ve just landed on your ‘stairway to heaven’ – and here on its ‘rock n roll damnation’. You’ve found your ‘T.N.T’. So you ride out of the sunset, keep your eyes on the road and your hands upon the wheel – and suddenly, ‘you find it hard to believe, you’re in heaven’. Here, everything is ‘larger than life’ – with ‘tequila sunrises’, ‘blazes of glory’ and ‘high hopes’. You are ‘stuck in a moment’, dreaming a dream of ‘strawberry fields forever’. For effect, you might want to sing it — ‘staw-berry fields…for-ever’.

‘Little darling’, ‘welcome to the jungle’ of song lyrics.

A funny story. A few weeks ago, I met a friend for coffee and he was really keen on me trying a certain coffee blend at Starbucks (and my fixation for Hazelnut Latte is legit). So, after a lot of deliberation, I succumbed, and to my surprise – loved my new coffee. So he said to me ‘Isn’t it good?’. And I said ‘Norwegian Wood’. He looked at me as though I belonged in an asylum. But, you feel me, yeah?

Do you believe in using songs to say things?

The language of lyrics from some of the most classic songs of all time, is a language that is holy to only some of us. And hence, we say things like ‘keep me stuck in your head like your favourite tune’ or ‘let’s keep each other on repeat like our favourite song’ or ‘no matter what people think of you, always keep singing your own song’, or better still – ‘find the one who hears your music the same way you do’. We have an innate weakness for song and music references in our conversations. As strange as that sounds – we are a certain type of person. And only our type gets the magic of our weirdness. We feel elated when we quote a rather unheard lyric from a bygone era, mid conversation, and the listener knows our song or responds with yet another lyric reference from the same song, artist, album, or era. We trip on lyrical comebacks for all the musical words we sprinkle around us like sweet, rainbow confetti. We feel united with lyric lovers on our frequencies of love for all things music – and although we may not necessarily be able to sing to save the world – we selflessly drop lyrics like fairy dust wherever we go. For us —your energy is the song you save in your heart, your aura is the colour of the melody that resides in your soul, your spirit is the light in your eyes when you hear the songs that made you.

We scan souls based on their music preferences and may sometimes say rude things like – If you don’t love Floyd, then talk to the hand. But, what we really mean is that your world is a little less magical because you have not seen life with real music in it. We feel almost a bit sad for you — like watching you grow tinier and hazier from the window of a moving train — you, the passenger that decided to get on the next train only because you thought this one’s not for you. But that’s the thing about these trains — some are made for every single human on this planet — taking you on journeys you’ve never been on before — journeys that will stay with you for time immemorial, journeys you will want to take time and again, and journeys that will mould you into letters of love, stardust, dewdrops, rainfall, sunsets, moonshine and everything nice. And although song lyrics may seem only like words strung together as sea pearls in a necklace, when brought to life by the right voice, they become that priceless piece of vintage beauty on the slim, beautiful collar bone of a woman from a place of ethereal goodness.

And that is exactly what music does for me. I don’t sing or play an instrument, or understand the technicalities of good music. All I know is that some songs have taken me through the roughest, darkest days – transgressing time, lost loves, hopeless evenings and lonely nights. And then there are those that bring flashes of sparkling joy flooding back even after months, years, decades – all I need to do is close my eyes, plug and play. I cannot describe it, define it or understand it – but my connection with music is like a dreamworld come to life in 3D – I can be where I want to be, with who I want to be, doing what I want to do for those 3 minutes of that song. And in those 3 minutes, I can be lost and I can be found again.

I feel grateful to be surrounded by people and voices that resonate with my synergies – lovers of the ‘feeling called music’. I feel blessed to be a 30+ today because as the younger folk at my work place often tease me for saying ‘Back in the day’, it is true that ‘Back in the days of rock n roll, music was real.’ And I’m glad that timeline was ours to cherish.

Peace, love and music to all.

Until next time,

XOXO

2018 Favourites – Quarter 3

Oh boy. Quarter 3 has been quite the mind-boggler.

Like a fast-paced, twisty-turny, fiction novel full of intrigue, drama and what not, the plot only thickens with every hair-pin bend in the road. For the most part of this quarter, I was almost waiting for a bus to come hit me from the right when I was looking left to cross the road. And even so, I wouldn’t change a thing about it – peace may prevail where I don’t (for now), but chaos is the most beautiful form of unlearning and relearning. It may come disguised in veils of confusion, but it pushes me to be consciously present in every moment, for fear of the moment being lost in the flurry of worldly things. Capturing each moment in the mind’s eye, in all its vivid totality, has been the takeaway from the quarter, and I recommend it with an enthusiasm verging on fanaticism.

I have some strange favourites this quarter, and I can’t exactly put them into categories. So, let’s do this random, not in tandem. If it rhymes, why not yeah?

Serendipity (Tattoo)

I’ve been asked by curious fellow metro travellers what my ‘serendipity’ tattoo means, signifies or if it’s written in my handwriting. I have always been fascinated with the idea of finding something beautiful without looking for it – the serendipity of the universe. And it happens to be, that a lot of what I love (people, things, opportunities) have come to me ‘serendipitously’ – a word I still struggle to pronounce despite Google trying to teach me how. Now, when I look at it on my left arm (in a place where I used to wear my watch – which now goes on my right wrist), it reminds me of all the good things that have been nudged my way and the promise of many more to come.

It may be just a word inked on my skin, but to me, its my guardian angel. Sometimes, words do that which actions never can – they turn on the soul.

Hand-held mirror

They say a friend’s eye is a good mirror. Especially if you are looking for positive criticism. And especially if it’s got to do with wearing eye-shadow.

A hand-held mirror is your best mate for perfecting an eye-shadow look. You can hold it on one side while you work your brush on the other side of your face. It gives you a real close-up view of your lids, it allows you to look at your lids from a lower angle, and it’s ideal to carry in a purse for touch-ups. It also makes for a chic, elegant style statement. I personally prefer a wooden one, but there are a lot of cheaper options available in the market that will serve the purpose.

Let’s stop leaning into mirrors, struggling to get feline liners to be precise. Let’s only lean in when there’s a kiss waiting on the other side.

Hero Fountain Pen

‘Where did you get that!’ – my childhood pal exclaimed, while I fished out my humble Hero fountain pen from my bag, to scribble down some ‘tech trivia’ that he was so patiently enlightening me with. As if a magical sabre had been unearthed from a hidden cavern, he beamed, looking at the ‘pen that was a part of our childhood’.

The Hero fountain pen was always the one thing from the pencil box that was never shared – every individual writes in a certain way, and the pen adapts itself to its master – the nib getting smoother and more artistic with each passing stroke. And if one was to lose his hero pen, it was doomsday conspiracy into pi. Such was the charm of this unassertive companion.

And to this day, I don’t share mine with anyone. In fact, my childhood pal requested that I get a new one for him, because he knows he wouldn’t have shared his. After all, it’s not the kind of love you spread thin.

To my dismay, these fountain pens aren’t easily available anymore, except in small, unassuming stationary shops.

Jewellery – dainty necklaces

Just like the fit and style of a pair of denims, necklaces tend to change trends every season. They go from chunky to dainty to statement, from silver to gold to rose gold, from long to short to choker, from colourful to monotone to metal – and TBH, keeping up is like sprinting towards a moving train. Never mind the current in-vogue style, I prefer comfortable, dainty, gold necklaces that stay close to the neck and most importantly, don’t tangle the hair, bobble the t-shirt or oxidise. I get mine at the usual high street stores, wear them for a season and get new ones after a while. They make for a subtle accessory statement, without being overbearing. Go casual, party, or formal – they work with most OOTDs or OOTNs.

Live music

As an untimely September rain drizzles across the city, a cold ‘November rain’ finds its way into my heart (have to admit these words are stolen). The universe has been gracious to grant me the pleasure of listening to a lot of live music lately – mostly old school rock ‘n’ roll – transforming my dingy world into a starlit, twilight sky. The unbound joy and tireless beauty that live music brings to the soul is undeniably the best feeling ever. Through all the drama of life, music was the only way to run away without leaving home. And now when I think back, I see that every memory has a soundtrack of its own. Because for me, it’s more than just music. I feel alive, I feel at home.

As cliché as it sounds, music is my safe kind of high.

For the best live music ever in Bengaluru, come, jam at blueFROG on Church Street. And call me if you’re going this Friday night. #notanad

Remote for DSLRs 

There’s nothing like being the master of your own game. It is frustrating to miss a personal deadline simply because you are dependant on a friend, family or anyone else for part of your work – this is especially true if your work involves photography or videography in any form. My life changed the day I got a wireless remote for my DSLR camera. This meant that I could click my own pictures as long as I had some natural light and a sturdy tripod. If your camera can autofocus, then you can move around, pose away and shoot multiple looks in a day. Being independent makes work easier, faster and so much more satisfying.

As far as I know, most DSLRs support wireless remotes that are compact and can easily be hidden in the palm of your hand. Making love to the lens has never been easier.

App Canva

The app Canva is a saviour if you have basic design needs to be fulfilled. Whether it is a display picture, a Facebook page banner, an Instagram announcement, an invitation, a logo or any other design need, Canva has set templates that can be modified to match your requirements. It saves a .png file for you – so you are sorted. I have been using it for over a year now, for multiple requirements, and love the quality of the design templates. The app is user-friendly and requires no technical understanding of design. It’s free, it’s on your phone and it does the job beautifully. No reason to not love it.

Placeholders for Books

“If you remember me, then I don’t care if everybody else forgets” – says Haruki Murakami in my favourite book ‘Kafka on the Shore’. A book overflowing with surrealism of cats talking to people, people talking to stones and stones changing the course of time. And although Murakami also says that ‘there is no such thing as a coincidence’, it might be one that I was gifted some adorable sticky notes (featuring cats of all sorts) just before I began reading this book. And even as I read the first chapter, I wanted to go back and read some parts again. It was as if the words were calling out to me saying “If you remember me, then I don’t care if everybody else forgets”. So, I began tagging my favourite pages with my kitty placeholders. And every time I wanted to go back into Kafka’s mysterious, alternate world – I opened a random, tagged page and began reading. The memories came flooding back, the words creating their magic again and teleporting me back to Murakami’s lost world.

Subsequently, this became a ritual associated with every book I read after that. And hence, made its way into my quarterly favourites.

Bucket Listing

Don’t we all fantasize of a bucket list that we wish to realise in time? Simple things. Adventurous things. Wild things. Dreamy things. We make them up, play them over and over in our mind’s eye, plan to make it happen and fail due to our unrealistic expectations from ourselves, our lives or from those around us. And very slowly, these fantasies take deeper roots, growing stronger, etching deeper and flowing through every vein. Until one fine day, like a red scarf instigating an angry bull, you go at it head on – all in, all out.

2018 was a year of rebellion. And with it, I saw my bucket list come to life. A vacation to Goa with 2 married, childhood guy friends – something we planned since we were ten. Check. (Read my travel blog here)

It was the absolute highlight of my quarter. And worth the 22-year wait. Also, the craziest tan I’ve had in 22 years (still eminent in the pictures on this post).

There was one more check on the list, but I can’t talk about it. I’d have to kill you.

Writing

They say that when your passion becomes your job, you must find another passion to chase and embrace. And yet, my passion for writing and creating magic with words only burns brighter.

I always looked at myself in the mirror and said ‘I write for a living’. So much so, that the universe strummed my words into reality, spiking it with some love, luck and a whole lot of positive vibes. Writing for a living means that I come home with a head full of levitating words, all jumbled up – and writer’s block when I sit down to work on this blog. Creative inspiration and originality are hard to come by, and late night ‘eureka’ moments just don’t fit the crazy schedule.

But write I will. I maybe inconsistent (a word I hate to be associated with), I maybe missing a deadline, I maybe making false promises – but your love isn’t taken for granted because as someone said –

I was running out of miracles, but then I met you.

I am never giving up. I am never stopping. This is where I began. And this is where it shall all end.

See you in December for the last edition of this series for 2018 – favourites for quarter 4.

Until next time,

XOXO

Counting Stars

“Always hold this truth to your heart:
whether you are the artist,
the mathematician, the entrepreneur
or the gardener running your
hands through the earth,
nurture your curiosity, do not box yourself in;
read, write, stargaze, solve,
travel, illustrate, compose — explore.
There are an infinite number of worlds 
on this earth, you need only to
set off on the journey.”

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10 September 2017 – Welcome to the Jungle

It was an eventful Sunday evening — if ‘eventful’ can be used to describe the state of affairs in someone’s over thinking head.

I was feeling like an old loaf of bread — catching mould, sitting at the back of the refrigerator shelf — lonely, uncomfortable, cold, rotten, unwanted and close to expiry.

I never liked Sunday evenings. Or rather, I didn’t like everything that goes with them — the Sunday evening state of affairs. My head felt like the 10 kg dumbbell at the gym that I still cannot weight-lift. My reflection in the mirror was a shadow from a distant past — it had my eyes, my features — but, the eyes were looking beyond the mirror — as if looking out into the sea, searching for a lifeline. My body felt betrayed by time. My bones ached with the memories of early motherhood. My skin was all wrinkled up, like a forlorn Pug puppy having been separated from his master. And my mind — well, my mind was a strange place. I was hearing things.

Not sounds, but thick slabs of silence being dragged through the dark.

Haruki Murakami, The Elephant Vanishes

Distortions. Blurred vision. Time warp. Tides of confusion. Raging fire. Radiation and reactions. Premonitions tugging at memories. Memories tugging at premonitions. Skewed electric impulses. Synaptic hijack. Failure to eject. Colourless dreams. Endless circles of trance. Scientific poetry. Silences wrapped in high decibel clamour. Invisible voices. Deep roots growing in deeper soils. Finely honed razor blades. Aliens yanking at heartstrings. Unsettling memories, unfitting spaces, undone buttons. Boulders in space, comets under the sea, raindrops of molten lava. Utterly butterly chaotic.

It was like my mind was eternally PMSing, while my heart was busy hating my guts.

Wearing the inside out had never been my style. But these demons inside my head had to be let out into the night to dance around the fire, to spin straw into gold, to help me find my answers — even if those answers were as hard to spell as Rumplestiltskin. So, out they came. And, dance they did. And slowly but surely, the answers surfaced. They came in forms I wasn’t expecting, in shapes that did not exist, and in people I did not know. And one by one, ever fiber of my being, trapped in this cage, wanted to be freed. No lead roles left to be played in cages anymore. No ghosts waiting to be chased anymore.

Welcome to the jungle, it gets worse here every day – you learn to live like an animal in the jungle where we play 

Welcome to the jungle, Guns N Roses

This was one year ago. One year ago, today. The day that I met an old friend and fell in love.

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15 September 2017 – Shine on you Crazy Diamond

On Friday evening, like soft summer rain falling on all the freshly mowed lawns of the world, my words came in clouds that couldn’t wait to rain their existence on the world — and hence began Mom’s aren’t Gentlemen — a sanctuary of everything sacred to me that I kept going back to every 5 days. It was my muse, my music, my magic. In falling in love with this new distraction, I began falling back in love with myself once again. In sharing my world with a bunch of strangers, I began finding my light again. And suddenly, my strange mind that was hearing things, heard only the melodies being strummed by the invisible strings of the universe. No thick slabs of silence being dragged through the night. No distortions. Only Technicolor dreams. And fluttering hope. And fireflies lighting my nights with their glow. From a tuneless track to a timeless symphony, I could finally hear those invisible voices exclaim ‘this girl’s got rhythm!‘. Or rather, she’s got her rhythm back.

Just when the last grains of the ‘sands of time’ were about to fall through my hourglass, this blog came along and inverted my sand timer. It gave me another chance to fight time. Fight fate. So, with hope and will compressed in me as if I were a pressurized cabin, I made myself believe that my hero had arrived. That it was time to take the plunge — make the dive without mastering the technique, or knowing how to breathe underwater. No life jackets too. Clearly, it was my ‘Fight Club‘ moment — “this is your life and it’s ending one minute at a time”. It was now or never. I had to change. And to say that I did it gracefully, would be to put it so gracefully that I’d be a big fat f$&@ing liar.

It took everything out of me, from me. But, I made a lot of changes. Tough decisions. Uncomfortable conversations. Painful confrontations. I began writing more, reading more, exercising more, eating better, listening to music again, feeling joy again. And through it all, this 5-day deadline of blogging gave me my reasons, my conviction, my purpose. It helped me escape the wrath of my own internal labyrinth. Deep inside, like fossilized specimens, I found priceless bits and pieces of me. I found this friend in me. And this time when I looked into the mirror, those eyes bore into my soul — and just like that, I fell in love with that friend inside me.

This love got me through one year of immaculate blogging — never missing a deadline, never publishing crap, never failing my readers. It got me through criticism when I began, jealousy when I got better, and hypocrisy when there was nothing else left to pull me down. It also brought me unbound joy, inspiration from the blogger community, encouragement from the ones that really cared, and in many ways, helped me understand that blood isn’t always thicker than water. That tectonic plates will shift — you gotta be smart enough to jump over to the next one before quaking into oblivion. Keep hustling. Bustling. Binging. Tripping. Rocking.

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15 September 2018 – Welcome to the Machine

A hundred life lessons later, I’m here today. In one piece. Living, breathing, surviving — like a well-oiled machine — the quintessential hustler. I do my thing, and while I’m at it,  I do my best to keep it beautifully messy. It’s never easy, it’s never perfect — and it definitely isn’t always rewarding. But baby, it’s a long way to the top, if you wanna rock n roll!

If there has been one takeaway from it all, it has been the joy of giving gratitude. For all the things that have been, can be or will be. Giving immense gratitude for you, my readers —we shall meet & greet forever at frequency ‘magic‘. For you, who make sure I eat my meals. For you, who love me when I don’t love myself. For you, my little one, for the sparkle you bring into my eyes. For you, my universe, for always nudging me towards what I seek but do not know. And finally for you, the perfect stranger living inside me — for always believing in my dreams while I’m counting stars. Not days. Not dollars. Not numbers. Only stars.

Everything that kills me, makes me feel alive

Counting Stars, One Republic

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365 days seem shorter when you conquer them 5 days at a time. See you in 5 days from now. Every 5 days.

Until next time,

XOXO

Moms aren’t Gentlemen

 

“I don’t know — maybe the world has two different kinds of people, and for one kind the world is this completely logical, rice pudding place, and for the other it’s all a hit-or-miss macaroni gratin.”

Haruki Murakami, The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle

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Prologue

I sit next to my son, while he scoops up heaps of sand in his tiny palms, feeling frustrated as the grains slip between his little fingers no matter how hard he tries to hold on to this futile process. The sand falls back to the ground and, like lost time, becomes part of what’s already there. His tiny brain processes this idea of wanting to achieve something in a certain way, but being unable to do so, sends out signals in the form of frowny faces, angry fists and high-frequency shrieks. I look at him in amusement, making a mental note to cut his fingernails as soon as we get home.

For that moment in time, he takes me away from the frustration that’s going into torrid flames deep inside me. My mind in torn between wanting to absorb this present moment and not allowing the recent past to devour my near future. Even as I want to be really angry (because of something completely unrelated), my mommy brain wants to marvel at the intensity and expression of his anger. And I can’t help but wonder how contrastingly strange is the nature of our emotions — his frustration — short-lived and silly — comes from a place of innocence and unwordliness, unlike mine that swarms with a complex amalgamation of all things worldly and disgustingly grown-up. Suddenly, I want to barter my brain for his — this easygoing transition between hysterical bouts of laughter and tiny white teeth gritting with irreproachable anger. I want to stop heeding to this raging sense of insult bubbling inside my layers — even though the insult isn’t really mine to bear. But, being the slightly over-the-top, patriotic fool that I am, I take some things very personally. But even as these thoughts consume me in varying degrees of distaste, a silent calm hovers over our little bubble — where my son plays in happy abandon and I watch him, hypnotized by his simple expectations of joy. Not wanting to pop the bubble yet, I let my anxiety take a backseat for a few minutes. I let my words crouch soundlessly in the corner of time — taking in all the glory from this moment that will be nothing more than memories in a few minutes.

The National Anthem Saga

Call me a dreamer, but I always imagined a wonderful world — the one that Louis Armstrong sings about. “I hear babies crying, I watch them grow – they’ll learn much more than I’ll ever know – and I think to myself what a wonderful world”. And I believe this world does exist, despite what we see, what we hear and what we feel. I believe in the good things in life. And yet, that true believer in me sometimes feels a helpless sense of loss — loss of wisdom and virtue while I see parents around me trying so hard to mould their younglings. I am by no means the perfect parent and don’t know much about how to get a child to listen to you without begging, bribing or threatening — I do it all and it works just fine when distraction doesn’t (I bake my own cupcakes so I can bribe all I want). I may not be the bookish mom, or even the mom that doesn’t swear, but I do know how to do one thing right — I know how to make a good human being (which includes being a proud citizen) from 1 foot and 6 pounds of boundless joy (and mayhem). I know I will always try to teach my child (read monster) to be a kind human before aiming to be anything else — or I shall obligingly die trying.

But before curiosity kills the cat, let me tell you what brought on the regurgitation of these complex, heated emotions. Last evening, as we counted to twenty, swinging on our usual blue swing in the park, a loud group of young boys came to play in the park close to us. This enthusiastic bunch was followed close behind by a group of moms (their moms I would think), chattering and giggling with animated faces and hand gestures that beat even mine. The moms parked their bottoms instinctively on a bench nearby and continued their high-frequency banter while the boys began playing on the slides and some even joined us on the nearby swings. But suddenly, I noticed something very strange. Like a cluster of bees buzzing in unison, they were all singing the national anthem. Actually, they were screaming it — and saying all the words wrong, almost mocking it. I winced, aghast at the scene — nobody seemed to know that they ought to stand in attention while singing the national anthem. It was the very first thing we were taught back in school. Instantly, I was teleported to my childhood days and to the only reason why we hated those uniform short skirts. As we stood in attention at the morning prayers and assembly, anyone who giggled or tried to make petty conversation was promptly whacked with the stick on the calves. Especially, during the national anthem. And to this day, when the national anthem is played in movie theatres, I stand in attention and let the melody of our anthem bring me those goosebumps. But, snapping back to the present, I sense that something here is irrationally askew. The mothers don’t seem to notice, and those that do, don’t seem to care. And for a while, I feel a little confused and almost a little sad. Is it my place to intervene? But then, is it okay to allow the youth of tomorrow to believe that the national anthem is just another song? That it isn’t attached to national integrity, solemnity, sacrifice, and respect.

I tell myself that these children are no more than 7-10 years old. They don’t understand what these concepts mean, what the words of the anthem signify, or why it is sung at several solemn occasions. But, I would think that their mothers do. I would think that education, knowledge, and sensitization begin at home — that a mother is the first teacher — the most impressionable one. That, for a child, her words are always words written in stone — the final verdict, the last call, the only truth. And yet, I see this bunch of moms, turning a blind eye to this frivolous recitation of a poem written in the deepest faith by a true legend. I count to ten, I shut my eyes, I purse my lips hard — but the words inside my mouth are forming like huge, unwavering waves about to hit a rocky shore. Finally, with all the composure I can muster — I tell the children in a kind and firm voice that the national anthem should not be made fun of and that one must stand in attention while singing it no matter when, where or how. My words tumble out louder than I intended — the authority in them addressing the mothers rather than the little ones. The children look at me like I am some unscrupulous, hopeless excuse for a human being. They laugh at me mockingly and continue screaming the national anthem, this time doing jumping jacks and running in circles. All this while, the mothers have been watching in silence. And like a crass internal battle that has just been won, they now smirk at me and then smugly at one another. I watch it all in horror, in dismay, in a sort of senseless pain — and finally, in resignation. I decide that this is not my war to fight; I accept that I can change only what is inside me and not what isn’t.

“There’s another world that parallels our own, and to a certain degree you’re able to step into that other world and come back safely. As long as you are careful. But go past a certain point and you’ll lose the path out. It’s a labyrinth. But the principle for the labyrinth is inside you. And that correlates to the labyrinth outside.”

I am reminded of this reciprocal metaphor from a book that is, in most likelihood, a part of my soul (Kafka on the Shore). And in that moment, I just let it all go. I gently scoop up my son in my arms, and start humming ‘Seasons in the Sun‘ while I walk back home. My mind is working overtime, consumed by this deathly cocktail of emotions. But eventually, I find my centre, the familiar part of my labyrinth. I’m not sure there is a lesson here, or even a story worth telling. But I do know this — being a firm believer in one thing, allowing it to be your guiding principle or letting it define your identity is as much a strength as it is a flaw. Because in the world where we will all finally live someday — that neutral place between life and death — the limbo — there is no right or wrong, no light or dark, no hurt or pain — just a calm sense of having lived a full live and transitioning into another lost world. So while I’m here, I’ll learn to let go, to smile it away, kiss it away, hug it out. And I’ll live to fight another day.

Epilogue

That being said, I never feel like I want to be anything else or anyone else but me — even when I don’t fit into the herd. The odd, eccentric Aquarian in me still feels soulful and content with her tribe of nonsense people — never the popular one with the huge circle of friends, or the one that shares her space with the world — I’m my very own private island, with my very own lighthouse and sunsets. And books. And unending kettles of tea. And so it was never a ‘faint in surprise‘ situation when I was anything but the popular mom. Disliked for being blunt, bitched about for being almost too unsocial, and always the mom who was the least relatable, most unstirred by public opinion, and always content to live in a happy place in her mind — this post may have caused some mom friends (moms who are friends who talk about their kids, mostly) to disappear from my life. I can’t say I’ll miss them — well, maybe if someday I need humans for company. But, in the meantime, nobody should feel obliged to hold their breaths.

“We are all kind of weird, and twisted and drowning.”

Haruki Murakami, Norwegian Wood

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Until next time,

XOXO

Flying Without Wings

I think of rivers, of tides. Forests and water gushing out. Rain and lightening. Rocks and shadows. All of these are in me.
Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore

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In many ways, freedom is often misunderstood as something that is controlled by an external source in our lives — a person, a situation, a condition, a compromise, a regret. But more often than not, being truly free is a part of self acceptance and self-realization. Being free-willed, free-spirited and free-hearted are very often in our control. And freedom — to think, speak, act or be, springs from this inner sense of being truly free. We are all born with the wings that give us flight, but seldom do we recognize the need to explore a new territory, question a comfortable existence or challenge ourselves to the unknown. We let the wings fade away with time, melt away with each warm summer — believing they are too frail, too incompetent. But there comes a time, when you realize that you have only two choices — to fly away or fade away — so you work on those broken wings, or simply learn to fly without them. Your spirit comes alive like sunshine peeking through a blanket of dark clouds, your will finds a strength that is marred by no amount of soul thrashing, and your heart is etched with a deep blue tattoo of that new truth, that fresh beginning.

As women of today, as women who are constantly under the pressure of making themselves empowered, liberated, and successful — somewhere, we have begun to lose the essence of our inner grace, the earnest meaning of being truly free, and the maturity of thought and action that come with this freedom. We are fighting the currents too hard, raising our voices too soon, asking the questions before we need to know the answers, and believing that in doing so — we are moving forward when sometimes, we are just not ready within our minds, bodies and our souls to walk that path. We simply follow the voices we hear, like a drill — never really prepared for when the drill turns into a real firefight.

We confuse concepts, understanding only half the truth, solving only part of the puzzle, ingesting only one triangle of pizza calories. But when the time comes to finally look into the mirror, we see parts of us we don’t recognize — parts we made because we had to rather than having wanted to. We find it impossible to relate to our inner selves, like it is you doing these things — but you aren’t really there. Like there’s a lunatic running free in your mind, driving your car, sleeping in your bed, and eating your carbs. The day you stop identifying with yourself is the day your sense of being free is strangely holding you down, blurring your vision. And yet, taming that free-will and guarding that free-spirit is the only way to have the cake and eat it too.

Whether you are the 9 to 5 office-goer, the stay-at-home or work-from-home mommy, the weekend party hopper, the compulsive bridesmaid, the girl next door or the dress-up drama queen — you have a soul that is free by its own will. Your wings are waiting for you to take off into the sunset — but only when you are ready. Only when you find your free-spirit to be controlled by nothing else, and nobody else but your zest for life. Only when you test yourself, give yourself the chances to fail, and accept that to be truly free, you must define where your happiness lies. You must quantify it, break rules if you have to, cross borders if you need to, bleed if you’ve got to. Remember, freedom will always come at a hefty cost.

It will require that you use your discretion, without selling your soul to the aliens. It will require that your boundaries protect you, your loved ones believe in you and your dreams come chasing after you even when you think you’ve been burned alive. It will certainly require a will made of steel, a heart open to ache, and a mind hungry for conflict. Nobody warned you that being young, wild and free would take so much practice — so much control.

But, in time, whatever you decide to be or become, you must look the part, play the part and live the part until the day it begins to mould your identity. Let the free-thinker, true believer, and heart warmer in you be the traits that define your real freedom. Set yourself free inside, and everything outside of your own being will shift tides to catch your wave.

“…Yeah Darlin’ go make it happen
Take the world in a love embrace…”
Born to be wild, Steppenwolf

And that thought brings me to the end of this post. Last but not the least, this post was conceived and conceptualized in collaboration with Voylla Fashion Jewellery. Crafted and designed on the basis of a women’s campaign that proudly celebrates women for looking their part, being themselves and finding themselves through the varied roles they play in their lives, this brand represents the true free-spirit of every woman. This Independence Day, inspired by several art forms across India, Voylla inspires freedom through their Republic of Jewellery campaign — a collection that spans creative art forms across all Indian states. This collection is now available for purchase in their online shop and their stores across India.

Find below, the links for all the jewellery I am wearing in this post. Although this is a sponsored post, all ideas, thoughts and creative concepts are exclusively mine.

Earrings from the Kantha collection – https://studio.voylla.com/campaign/kantha-jewelry-collection

Earrings from the Chikankari collection – https://www.voylla.com/campaign/chikankari-collection

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Like a true nature’s child, we were born, born to be wild.
Happy Independence day.

Until next time,

XOXO

I’ve got a Dream

‘Way down deep inside, I’ve got a dream‘ — sings Rapunzel (in Tangled) with all the thugs, ruffians and thieves who seem to go all warm and fuzzy when she asks them in all her spirited innocence — ‘Don’t any of you have a dream?!‘

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Some of us grow up knowing exactly what we want to do or what we want to be — the ballerina, the revolutionary, the sportsman, the figure skater, the michelin star chef, or the bestselling author. On the other end of the spectrum, lie the silent dreamers — the ones that are good at most things, and excel at nothing. They are the dormant volcanoes— bubbling within, serene on the surface — satisfied with being a tourist’s attraction, rather than the centre of it. This is us.

We were the teenagers living in our own lost worlds — we knew we would fare square in our circles, but we never found our real calling — our soul’s drug, our true life force. We were naive, fragile, carefree, and almost too happy with our ‘above average‘ opening acts in all facets of early adulthood — studies, love, jobs, life. But in the shadows, lay still, the dreams that were never dreamt, the opportunities that didn’t come our way, the exposure that we couldn’t experience, the inspiration that we couldn’t find, and the heroes inside us that we couldn’t recognize.

Nobody knows all along what their one big dream will look like. Sometimes, if you are lucky, you have all your ducks in a row from the very beginning. But sometimes, that dream decides to show up when you’ve finally got everything under control — and wish only to lie on a bed of green grass and gaze at the stars, patting yourself on your back, for you made a good life out of what was offered to you. ‘But, wait a second‘ — says the universe. ‘I’m not done yet.’

Suddenly, the dream is here in all its eloquence – to consume you, derail you, question your sanity and rip you apart. And yet, it’s everything you are made up of — it’s every cell of your body, every thought in your mind, every chemical in your blood, and every grain of your soul. And just like that, you know what the great people were talking about when they said ‘I’ve got a dream’. Just like Phil Knight says in his memoir – Shoedog — ‘It didn’t even look like an idea. It looked like a place. It looked like a person, or like some life force that existed long before I did, separate from me but also part of me. Waiting for me, but also hiding from me.’ Yes, dreams can feel so vivid, so real — it all depends on how you assemble it, frame it, work it – it all depends on how you sell it to yourself.

Dreams don’t often become a reality. When I wake up each morning, that’s the one thought I fight. The one thought I never want to believe in, to give power to, or to succumb under. Some may call it stupid, some may say I shall be unprepared to deal with the real world at some point, some may even snigger at my gullible outlook. But way down deep inside, I know that I can attract all that I’ll ever need to make my dreams my new truth. If I fail, I’ll know that I didn’t want it bad enough to be able to abolish all negativity with regard to its fulfilment. I am the only pawn in the game — and how I fare is always in my control — one way or another.

The world is full of triggers that may confine you to your swamp of a life — holding you back, chaining you to the rails, unleashing the mind games, sending you on guilt-ridden trips, and filling your brandy mug with a whole lot of clean juice. Don’t let it get to you. Because, Haruki Murakami always makes the best analogies, and this one is no exception; he says — life is like a box of assorted chocolates — where you eat your favourite ones first and leave the others behind, not wanting to eat them at all. But in order to get to the next box of chocolates, you need to finish the ones you don’t like. You need to deal with digesting bad energy. You need to accept being judged for your choices, blamed for your indulgence in yourself, and questioned about the future that you don’t hold in your hands. But all through this, remember to keep the hero inside you singing your favourite songs, dancing in the rain, and believing in magic. Let your soul live in its neverland where rules exist only to be broken, where reality becomes a dream and where you breathe music, eat fire and spew love. In other words, stay lost, stay sane.

At the very same time, grasp the entirety of the equation — confide in a friend, observe the competition, look deep inside your framework, ask the right questions. Are you wired to do this? Do you have the unmatched passion and potential? Is your illusory castle sitting on a hollow base of assumptions? In being so lost, are you walking under the sea all alone? Are your blueprints strong enough to win a firefight? So on and so forth. Be honest with yourself and let healthy criticism be the one you go to bed with.

But, once you know you’ve got all your ducks in a row (or all your squirrels in a rave – as a close friend always says), go all guns blazing. Don’t look over your shoulder, and don’t look beyond the horizon. Keep your gaze fixed on this day. This moment. Do it better, faster, nicer. Fish out rabbits from hats and flower bouquets from blazer cuffs. Give it every waking nanosecond, shut out everything else. Call it inception — plant an idea in your own head — call it what you will. Do it all long enough, and tell me you don’t actually believe in the only obvious truth – that your dreams are your only, absolute reality.

As crazy as most of it sounds, we are nothing but flesh and bones without some hope, some dreams and some love.

So, let the hero inside you run wild, chasing dreams, meeting strangers, making history and creating magic. Don’t be scared to run, be scared to stop.

In Mariah Carey’s words –

“And then a hero comes along
With the strength to carry on
And you cast your fears aside
And you know you can survive
So when you feel like hope is gone
Look inside you and be strong
And you’ll finally see the truth
That a hero lies in you“

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Until next time, XOXO

Wake up, baby

“It’s not as if our lives are divided simply into light and dark. There’s shadowy middle ground. Recognizing and understanding the shadows is what a healthy intelligence does. And to acquire a healthy intelligence takes a certain amount of time and effort.”
After Dark, Murakami

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I open my eyes, and there you are. I can’t be sure if you were hiding in the shadows or choosing to stay away till the time was right. I don’t know if I understand what you want from me or what you mean at all. But as you tower over me, pouring down on me like the first summer rain, I can smell your sweet presence in all its beauty. I can feel you touching my soul, changing me in ways that I cannot comprehend. The ripples you have made in the calm waters may never settle, as you throw one pebble after the next – not fully understanding the web that binds me, the chains that hold me and the guards that won’t go down. But you linger. In my thoughts, in my sleep, and in every conscious moment. Digging deeper into the grey matter, contaminating the air I breathe, being the mafia that captures my heart.

I know who sent you; I know it was all a deviously designed plan. I know you won’t stop till the gates break open. I know you will pull me into you like an irresistible current – never to swim back ashore as the same person again. You and the universe together have it all figured out for me. You, my calling, have finally come to me uninvited, and yet you have become the life force that drives me. So when I open my eyes and see you there, I know I have been waiting for you all my life – waiting on the day when you whisper softly in my ears — wake up, baby.

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I open my eyes, and there you are. You are the penultimate circle of fire, the one that catches on before the wildfire. And yet, if one can’t seem to understand the power of little things, one can never understand how a single match can lead to a wildfire. You bring me purpose, reason, awakening and desire. You show me a mirror that fears what it may reflect. You have no form, no scent, no threshold. Sometimes, you can feel like the purest white cloud, and at other times, you are a chaos of colours. You may be the covert operation, the unredeemed truth, the dreary back alley — much like the strange case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde. Never on one side, always shifting base like a migraine that won’t go away. Persistent.

And yet, you are liberation, salvation, and freedom. You are the blackest black of my soul, the part that needs no light to grow — fuelled by passion, love and all things beautiful. You may be the gambler that leaves me with nothing or the one that gives me everything – reminding me that nothing lasts forever. You may be the ransom I pay for the lessons that need to come my way. Or, you may be the song that fills me with promises. Whatever you decide to be, you are still just a shadow rooted deep inside me. Locked, jailed, never to be freed. And yet, you mock me every time I pass you by. You own me even when you don’t. You, my dark side, will always be the one who I want to be enslaved to. The one that always gives me all the answers, only to find myself tangled in a new yarn of puzzling questions.

Like a sheet of water in a desert or on a hot road, you are an optical illusion of false promise. A mirage of the possibilities that come with walking into fire. You make me the fighter, the rebel, the outlier, the dreamer, the dragon rider, and the free spirit. Not the sweetest to taste, but always the necessary evil – you are the balsamic vinegar to my salad.

So, stay there, my rebellious edge. Because, when I open my eyes and see you there, I know I have been waiting for you all my life – waiting on the day when you whisper softly in my ears — wake up, baby.

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I open my eyes, and there you are. All of a sudden I feel this warmth in my heart, this spring in my step, this music in my head. I don’t know if dreams can feel so real, if things can be this goddamn amazing. Something inside me is telling me to give in. Something outside me is pulling me to you. Like an irresistible shot of tequila, a red lipstick waiting to stain a glass, laundered sheets waiting to be rustled, or a hunger waiting to be satiated — you have a power that is overwhelming, compulsive, potent and fervid.

Your soul is utterly captivating — a warm, rainy day dying to be danced in.

Your gentle nothings are finding their way into my heart. Killing me softly. Touching my soul in the sweet spots. Bringing my mind to believe in bizarre, unfamiliar thoughts. Leaving me beautifully tangled. Leaving me stuck in a moment. Throwing in stars, beacons of shining diamonds, rays of the setting sun, waves of the calming tide, secrets of the timid heart and words of the beautiful mind — all into one big, burning cauldron of seamless magic. And from it, you rise like a cloud of intoxicating fumes — my phoenix of love. Love, that waits for its time. Love that stays for infinity and beyond — in a place where the grass is greener, the light is brighter, the taste is sweeter, and high hopes linger; where there are nights of wonder, with the dawn mist glowing, the water flowing, the endless river — Forever and ever.

You are the boundless joy that I get to wake up to each day. So when I open my eyes and see you there, I know I have been waiting for you all my life – waiting on the day when you softly brush away the strands of hair that rest determined on my face and whisper softly in my ears — wake up, baby.

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P.S: Some words in the second last paragraph are borrowed references from the song High Hopes by Pink Floyd, written by Polly Annie Samson and David Jon Gilmour.

This is also a post that was written months ago, all this while sitting as a draft, waiting for its time.

Photo credits (and help with concept planning): @vijayanand_celluloids on Instagram. Thank you for being one heck of a human, one heck of a photographer and for giving me the creative freedom and support I needed to shoot these pictures with the utmost comfort and confidence — for being the one who brings my vision to life. Forever grateful.

Until next time, XOXO

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Right time

Better an oops than a what if – Beau Taplin

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For a long time now I have wanted to write this post – ever since I read this quote gracefully hand-lettered on a toilet seat cover by @stephankunz – ‘Create something today, even if it is shit’.

I have spent weeks, sometimes months, ruminating over plans, decisions, and to-dos – never realizing that in this time, I might have accomplished something worthwhile. That 6 months later, I wouldn’t still be making these big plans but seeing some real results. Maybe successes. Maybe failures. Maybe a change in plans or maybe a shift in focus. If nothing else, I would at least have something to look back on, reflect, learn, observe or analyze.

Aren’t we all always waiting for the right time? – once the kids grow up, once we finish our exams, once we lose some weight, once we get married, once we make some more money, once we retire, and the full toss excuse – once we find time.

But, you know this already – you will never find time. You will never make time. You will never prioritize your plans. But, you just might prioritize something that eventually becomes second nature – like 5 minutes of deep breathing at waking, cooking at least one meal at home everyday, exercising thrice a week, reading for at least 10 minutes in a day (even if it is the morning paper), doing what you love at a fixed time twice a week, meeting friends, or just spending a few minutes connecting with yourself.

I understand that you think you are busy. Ask yourself why and be honest. Have you bitten more than you can chew? Do you find it hard to say no to people? Are you helping people at the cost of your own wellness? Are you organizing your life? Are you sleeping too much or too less? Are you in a relationship where you share love and responsibilities? Are you ashamed to ask for help or hire it? If you answered yes to any of these questions, then you already know the problem and the solution. It’s bloody common sense. But you can’t seem to get your head around it. You can’t seem to fully accept it. You are so addicted to the rush, the chaos and the ‘no time to think’ autopilot mode, that it has become second nature to you (and not the things that should be). This frenzy is now a part of your brain biology, it’s what makes you tick, it’s what makes you feel important, it’s what consumes your mind. This feverish high enslaves you, dominates you and controls you, almost willfully. So you go on with your days, engulfed in the daily grind of worldly things, and forget the joys of thinking, feeling, reflecting, perceiving, accepting and changing.

The thrill of being spontaneous, the satisfaction of cultivating hobbies, the desire to learn a new skill, these simple joys are long-lost in the furtive current of our hectic lifestyles. We are constantly juggling, traveling, housekeeping, babysitting, or just being kicked around like a muddy football under pouring rain. We never give ourselves a break. A break doesn’t have to be an expensive holiday that takes months of careful planning and adds more stress. A break could be a small outlet to release the tension, to relax the muscles, to stretch the body, to exercise the mind, to reflect on your day or to simply switch off from the world.

It could mean that you use your day off to attend that theatre class, or leave the baby with your parents and go watch that movie, or buy a pair of dumbbells, a skipping rope and a yoga mat, and start sweating. Stop waiting. For Monday, for when your period will be over, for when the baby sleeps, for when you can wear that dress again, for things to come to your front door. Hustle, organize, regroup and attack. Start up. Start over.

Being prepared for a planned future situation/event is extremely critical. But, taking too long to prepare will do exactly the opposite of making you prepared. It will drown you in self-doubt, questions, fears, and more uncertainties than you first began your research with. And that is exactly what happened to me when I wanted to start this blog. I knew too much too soon, and it made me want to ditch my dreams and chicken out. Blogging needed everything I didn’t have – time, money, some tech understanding, blogger friends, knowledge of photography or a talented photographer, discipline and social presence. And the one thing that I did have – serious competition – wasn’t of any help either.

I started this blog on my bestie’s birthday (so September will call for twin celebrations!). All I needed to hear was someone telling me that they believed in me. The desire and inspiration to start writing, and the hard truth that nobody would actually read it unless I told them to (blessing in disguise), helped me find the will to write my first post. But I did it. And as planned, I did a post every five days. I had no views and no followers. But once I had begun, I had given myself the push, the drive. Everything that followed was just an organic flow of events. Change can be life-altering, a necessary tête-à-tête with some massive discomfort and yet a wise reminder that anything is possible if you do the hard work, and do it well.

As of this date, I have no sponsors or affiliates. I work alone, for me. I still post every five days and look forward to it more than you probably do. As much as every blogger dreams of big collaborations, I’m just grateful that I began my journey last year. Now I know what it feels like and I know I love nothing more than clicking on the ‘Publish immediately’ tab of my wordpress account. I have more than half a year of work behind me and that is a source of motivation in itself, a sort of self-commitment to my work, an accountibility to my readers and a lot of feedback, statistics and analytics that can only help me make better decisions. I’m not harping on a ‘what if’, but rather making plans for a ‘what now’, and that’s more than I can say for all my years of endless excuses.

So, please don’t be afraid to start something new. This is the right time. Your time is now. Start before someone else does.

In my definition of success, my blog is a personal success. If nothing else, it will always be my tunnel of love reaching out to you. Maybe, this post will make better sense if (and when) my blog also becomes a business success. But, then it would just be a boring old success story. Today, I have nothing to lose and I want you to know that it doesn’t matter to me. What matters is that you are here, and if it wasn’t for you I wouldn’t be here either.

This is my time, right or wrong. I’m finally doing what I love and I’m in it for the long haul.

What’s your story?

Until next time, XOXO.