My journal

To taste life twice – a journal writer’s reward

We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospection.

~ Anaïs Nin

journal writing — Journal writing each morning – the opportunity to enjoy a moment of stillness and to taste life twice

It rained overnight. Soaking rain. This morning the garden is showing its gratitude by unfurling leaves, stems reaching upright, flower buds suddenly tumescent with the promise of life. The early morning sunlight is sparkling through the treetops and the grass is glistening. Everything seems revitalised and perky. I walked around the garden earlier, feeling the coolness of the day brushing my face, the air calm. A state of quietude. Even the birdsong is muted. It smells fresh, cleansed of the dust stirred about by the ever-present winds of the past few days.

It’s been a scattered month. Like the dust that’s been swirling around, I feel stirred up and unsettled. I can’t believe that August has arrived already. We’ve been home from Italy for six weeks and the memories of that adventure have taken on sepia tones — the alchemy of the tastes, sounds, smells and sights which were so exhilarating, beginning to fade.Continue Reading

The power of intention on the path to transition

Every journey begins with the first step of articulating the intention, and then becoming the intention.

~ Bryant McGill

The path to transition — If only the path to transition were as smooth-flowing as the beautiful Shoalhaven River on a summer day

It’s been five months since we arrived in New South Wales yet we are still finding our way. I could be a little dismayed that I’m not further along in my transition to a new way of working. But it’s not been an easy path. It’s been messy — strewn with debris, obstacles to trip me up, and the deflecting minutiae of daily life. It’s been a slow meander not the quick sprint I envisaged, with false starts, dead-ends, illness and distractions along the way.

Caught in the maelstrom of the moment

Progress is never permanent, will always be threatened, must be redoubled, restated and reimagined if it is to survive.

~ Zadie Smith

Obstacles — Sometimes unexpected obstacles in our path can sweep us into a maelstrom

A couple of weeks ago I had a frightening episode. Chest pain and a trip to the emergency department of our district hospital in the wee hours of the morning swept me into a vortex of confusion, fear and anxiety. Physical pain is such a distressing sensation isn’t it? So much so that it’s easy to get caught in the maelstrom of the moment — erasing what came before, blocking any alternatives in the present, and wiping out possibilities for the future. And even though my pain subsided within a few hours, that whirling moment stretched to a number of days.Continue Reading

The joy and sadness of goodbyes and hellos

What we call the beginning is often the end. And to make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from.

~ T.S. Eliot

beginnings and Endings — The Shoalhaven River. No beginning or ending in sight

The past year has been filled with goodbyes and hellos. We said goodbye to our home in Adelaide, goodbye to work in the traditional sense, to familiar routines, traditions, and favourite places. And hello to sharing a house with my mum (crazy different!), hello to a new town, to new neighbours and to a new way of living.

Hellos are usually associated with beginnings, and coming together, excitement and of course, greetings; goodbyes signify endings and partings, they have connotations of sadness and moving away. After four months I still have days where sadness is my overwhelming emotion, and finding joy is an effort. And as I write this, I’m overcome with a bittersweet mixture of sadness and joy that an end of a visit arouses.

Today we waved goodbye to our son Daniel who’s been visiting for a week. It’s been a long time between visits — he’s a music producer and lecturer who has a busy life in Melbourne — and this past week the house seemed to be filled with his stories, his distinctive laugh and his gentle presence. His departure has been a kind of shock — the house is full of empty spaces and there’s a silence where he used to be.

It was a similar thing when our daughter, Jess visited a few weeks ago. She too filled up the empty spaces in the house that we didn’t notice before, her laughter and conversation an antidote to our homesickness.

Life is filled with hellos and goodbyes. What we do between them is what matters most.

Their arrivals fill the the atmosphere with novelty and excitement. After a couple of days there’s a settling, where we slip into our natural ways of being together, and then there are the inevitable goodbyes. The hardest part of the visit. And this time was tough. Perhaps because everything has changed.

It’s hit home that our kids have grown up. Adults with their own lives. We have become minor players in their games of life. I feel sad — for the passing of time and for (rightfully) being relegated a spot on the periphery, to being observers rather than the most important people in their lives. Of course we’ll always be their parents, but it’s goodbye to the responsibilities of mothering and fathering and hello to (hopefully) being friends and trusted advisers.

Beaches on the south coast of NSW — Hello to beautiful beaches in our new environment

Life is full of hellos and goodbyes, beginnings and endings. Perhaps the lesson here is to enjoy and savour every moment between those beginnings and endings, those hellos and goodbyes — whether it’s at work or play, spending time with your loved ones, or just going about the ordinary business of your day.

I leave you with this quote from Fred Rogers which eloquently states my wish for all of us in our hellos and goodbyes:

Often when you think you’re at the end of something, you’re at the beginning of something else. I’ve felt that many times. My hope for all of us is that ‘the miles we go before we sleep’ will be filled with all the feelings that come from deep caring – delight, sadness, joy, wisdom – and that in all the endings of our life, we will able to see the new beginnings.

What’s happened and what’s next – reflecting on 2017

I love the outsets, despite the fear and uncertainty that attach to all beginnings . . . I have already begun a thousand lives this way.

~ Rainer Maria Rilke Letters to a young poet

Merry Christmas — From my family to yours, a wish for a peaceful, joyous Christmas

I’m at my desk looking out at the Cambewarra Mountain which is shrouded in cloud cover. The ground outside is wet from the intermittent rain overnight, and the birds have begun their morning song. It’s a good morning to reflect on the year 2017 – what’s happened and what’s next.

The past year has been intense — filled with colour and emotion, activity and tumult. A year of big decisions and big effort. So much has happened. It’s my biggest year since I immigrated to Australia thirty nine years ago. It’s up there with childbirth, going to university as a mature student and seeing my youngest off to study and travel overseas solo for the first time.

The first part of my year was marked by decisions and activity. I answered the declutter guru, Marie Kondo’s call to pare down and discard stuff that didn’t give me joy. For my personal story — deciding what mattered, what was important to keep in the story and what to let go of, was a struggle which required much circling around with ink on paper. But our biggest decision was to sell our house and business. Move to where we could see the sunrise over the ocean instead of the sunset. A decision to change how we work and make a plan for a new way of life that was more wholehearted. Packing up our life set a rollercoaster of emotions in train — anxiety, doubt, disillusion and finally, relief.

We have been in New South Wales for three months now. Sharing a home with my mum while we look for the dream house in its perfect location somewhere along this beautiful south coast, has been a learning curve. Returning to live with a parent — disrupting their habits, encroaching on their space and finding their kitchen equipment lacking (by my standards) — is tricky, especially when you’re used to living differently, with more space and less stuff. It requires compromise and tact, and resilience when you’re feeling vulnerable after a traumatic year. It was a fraught beginning but over time, the three of us (and the princess dog) have found a way to share the space and rub along together reasonably well, and I’m grateful.

With most of our belongings in storage, we are learning to live with fewer clothes and books. Items that we previously thought were essential we are able to live without. And even though I miss some of my beautiful things and especially my kitchen and all its accoutrements for creative cooking, I still manage to produce meals that pass my critical muster. The trauma of relocation has faded, replaced by a nostalgia for familiar places and experiences — the beautiful parks for our walks, my local library, the convenience of living in a city, seeing foreign films . . .

But there is much that is beautiful to occupy us in our new surroundings. We have a new rhythm in our daily life. Hikes in the bush and along the river with its clear water, walks on beaches with the whitest sand, paddles in a lagoon, and shopping in interesting villages, are part of our regular routine. And yes, we miss some of the conveniences of city living, but we now have vineyards and paddocks with cows grazing as our passing scenery on our neighbourhood walks. But it’s not just about leisurely pursuits.

Eggplants growing — Eggplants forming in our vegetable patch

We’ve worked hard to restore the neglected garden which has enough space to grow flowers as well as vegetables. Tomatoes are growing, eggplants forming, cucumbers ripening and there is fresh lettuce to be picked for our lunch. Dahlias are bursting forth with their showy blooms in time for Christmas and the roses have just finished their first flush of flowering.

My creativity is also flourishing. My writing, which was erratic for a long time is now an established practice every day. I’m learning to draw as you know, and although I don’t practice as often as I should, I really love this expression of my creativity. Amore is relaxed and flexing his own creative muscles — experimenting with designs and contemplating his future of work.

Promise of a bountiful harvest — The promise of a bountiful harvest

And as we near the end of 2017, we are on a hiatus — not waiting, but pausing. Life is tranquil, and although we’ve had moments of doubt and flashes of regret, we have our hearts and minds focused on what’s next.

One of the things at the top of our what’s next list is finding a place to live. Not just a house, an environmentally sustainable dream house in the perfect location. We’ve been thinking, talking, making plans and pasting ideas into our inspiration book for more than a year. We have a tall order, and so far in our explorations the ideal package is illusive.

Not so illusive is a plan to travel to Italy. It’s been more than a year since our last visit and we hope to have an extended working holiday in the beautiful country. We are in the planning stages of dates, flights, arrangements for the princess dog, and investigations into Italian internet service. We have been offered an apartment for our stay in Genoa for which we are grateful. It’s a highlight in our 2018 calendar to look forward to and work toward.

I have other work to complete. A list of to-dos regarding my website has been neglected as is my my goal for publication of my first travel article in a magazine. Procrastination and resistance have reared their ugly heads and even though there are completed articles waiting to see the light, I haven’t hit the submit button yet. What holds us back sometimes? Fear of rejection? Perfectionism? I suffer from both these afflictions and they can be difficult to overcome. But I know the solution — break the task down into manageable chunks, put one foot in front of the other, one word and then the next, and work on it consistently, EVERY DAY!

The Cambewarra Mountain looking spectacular in the sunshine

The sky has cleared and the mountain is now in full view. The sun is out and the cicadas have resumed their cacophony from the grove of trees opposite. It’s been good to reflect on 2017 —what’s happened and what’s next in 2018. I’m happy to leave the rollercoaster of emotions behind. I’m also grateful for the roof over my head, achievements small and large, and the simple joys in my life. I can see that our 2018 calendar is marked with some exciting things and I look forward to a creative year.

I hope that when you reflect on the past year that you recollect many joys and achievements in 2017 (it’s so easy to remember the bad things, sometimes we need to pause and refocus our attention on the good things that happen to us).

From my family to yours, a wish for a peaceful and joyous festive season and may 2018 bring you all the best things.

The flourishing of creativity through writing a journal

Creative journal writing frees your spirit. It liberates insight and while it makes your mind dance, it soothes your soul.

~ Stephanie Dowrick, Creative journal writing

I’ve been writing a journal consistently for a year now. It’s a private space where I record my dreams and wishes, my complaints and disappointments and my sorrows and joys. It’s truly the ideal friend — a good listener, non-judgemental, always there when you need her, she invites me to write my way through challenges and helps me discover solutions which sometimes appear serendipitously on the page. And the most unexpected and delightful benefit of writing a daily journal has been the flourishing of creativity in all areas in my life.

For a long time I wasn’t clear about what really mattered to me. I knew I wasn’t the person I wanted to be but I didn’t know who that person could be. Journal writing was the catalyst for a shift in imagination. The daily writing helped to clear the clutter from my mind, fostered new ways of thinking about my life, and helped me to create a foundation for becoming who I really am. It opened the door to new possibilities, allowed my creativity to flourish.

This passage hasn’t been an easy one —inertia, resistance, and fear were my friends for a while. You can read my story about how I managed to vanquish these old foes and step onto the path toward a wholehearted life, at Quiet Writing

Writing a journal didn’t come naturally to me. It’s been a battle. I fought the hellion of resistance and my lack of discipline to even show up at my desk and come to the page. And the wrestle with the demon of perfectionism is an ongoing struggle. This process of self-discovery required a helping hand — new mentors, inspiring collaborators were called for. Books have been companions and teachers throughout my life so it was the place I turned to for help.

Journal writing books — Journal writing mentors

I first discovered journal writing through Julia Cameron’s book, The Artist’s Way. But I wasn’t ready for it. I was sceptical that writing three pages could free my captive creativity and I found the artist dates too confounding in my moribund state. I also didn’t have the discipline to see the twelve week course through.

However, Cameron’s ‘Morning pages’ (three pages of stream-of-consciousness writing in the morning) did help me to shrug off my corporate writer, my perfectionist self, for a while. And a quote by Elizabeth Kübler-Ross in Cameron’s book touched a chord with me even though at the time I didn’t know what it meant or how to achieve this state:

Learn to get in touch with the silence within yourself and know that everything in this life has a purpose.

rituals — Lighting my oil burner with a few drops of essential oil became part of my morning ritual

Janet Connor’s Writing down your soul was also edifying. Connor’s suggestions for showing up were simple and practical. They helped me create a daily ritual for writing my journal which was meditative and calming. I arrived at my desk each morning, lit a candle in my oil burner with a few drops of whichever essential oil spoke to me that day, sat down, and took a few deep breaths. I read a page from Susan Shaughnessy’s Walking on alligators, a book of meditations for writers (always inspiring) and opened my journal. Connor says to write a salutation as you would begin a letter. Mine was, and still is, Dear Friend. I love that it’s like beginning a conversation with a dear friend which is how I do see my journal.

I only read the first part of the book closely as many of the questions and exercises seemed too profound for my situation. I just began to write whatever came into my mind. But It didn’t feel satisfying. I continued with this for a while but looked for another mentor. I needed a guide who could show me how to free my captive creativity.

Lavinia Spalding’s Writing Away had been on my shelf for a while. The subheading “A creative guide to awakening the journal writing traveller” caught my eye. It’s wonderful sometimes isn’t it, when help arrives serendipitously just when you need it? Although aimed at travellers, Lavinia has many pertinent suggestions for the stay-at-home journal writer. One that I love is her invitation to view your everyday life as a journey and travel as an ongoing state of mind.
She says the journal,

“is a safe container for astonishing discoveries and the life lessons we take away from them. We write words in an empty book, and an inanimate object is transformed into a living, breathing memoir. In turn, as we write, the journal transforms us. It allows us to instantly process impressions, which leads to a more examined layer of consciousness in both the present and the future. It’s a relationship…

Yes, a relationship with an intimate friend.

One of the biggest take-aways from Writing Away was to use all your senses. It wakes you up, giving that moment a three dimensional impression. I regret not reading this book earlier and keeping a journal on my trips to Italy. I relied so much on my camera to capture scenes and places but a photo doesn’t remind you how you felt in that moment, the sounds of the market place, or what it smelt like. Smell is such an evocative sensation which can bring you to a halt with memories of that moment or situation.

A shift in imagination — A sudden disturbance in the air caused the leaves of my nectarine tree to float to the ground in a cascade of golden hues, echoing the shift in my imagination

Autumn 2016 and the leaves on the nectarine tree in front of my window were turning shades of gold. I was showing up at my desk, determined to get into the swing of this journal writing thing. But it was still laboured. Until I found my most influential writing mentor.

I came across Stephanie Dowrick’s Creative journal writing – the art and heart of reflection in the library. Her book was written for me. Everyday situations, engaging exercises, insights and practical suggestions that resonated with me. Journal writing, she says,

…will train and hone your eye for beauty. it will invite you into the present moment (while also allowing you to roam your past). It will let you re-experience awe and wonder. It will let you intensify and renew your pleasure in events and situations that have gone well. It will support your recovery (and the gaining of wisdom) from the times you wish had never happened.

Suddenly I felt a new freedom — to explore what really mattered to me, to ask new questions, to begin a wild writing adventure.

I bought a beautiful journal, found a pen I loved and followed the exercises and suggestions in the book. It was the beginning of something special. The exercises brought the ink flowing onto the page and this wild writing sometimes lead me to ideas I didn’t know I had, sparked connections I hadn’t seen before and gave meaning and richness to situations and events I’d brushed aside as insignificant.

I felt a flourishing of creativity and a confidence to try new things. It was a shift in imagination!

I’ve had a secret longing to learn to draw for decades and always dismissed the desire as I thought I didn’t have the talent nor the creativity for it. Until recently. I took the plunge and signed up to an online course to find out once and for all if I had even a skerrick of ability. I discovered that anyone can learn to draw, you just need to be taught some techniques and the rest is practice. What a prodigious surprise!

Writing a journal is creative. It’s instinctive — your pen moves across the page almost of its own volition, no thinking deeply, or censoring thoughts, or pausing for the right word. It’s woken me up, showed me what it means to be alive. Journal writing has guided and helped me to flourish in many ways: I’ve achieved clarity on my purpose, the freedom to explore what matters to me, I’ve developed my intuition, and let go of the person I thought I should be. It’s helped me to create space to find out who I really want to become. It’s helped me to create a vision for living a wholehearted life, a passionate life.

Are you a journal writer? In what ways has writing your journal helped you? Please drop me a line in the comments, I’d love to hear your experience.