I’m a non-swimmer and not comfortable at all in water (wading, boating, etc) although I love being near the ocean.
One of things on my bucket list is to swim with the whale sharks or at least go on the tour boat to see them off the coast of Exmouth. The tour company takes non-swimmers for this amazing experience. I’ve been trying to find the courage to do this, so it seems strange that I have a recurring dream that is in stark contrast to how I feel about the ocean.
I often have a dream where I find myself in a body of water swimming or just floating. In my dream I remind myself, I can’t swim and despite this, I experience a tremendous sense of serenity. The dream is so peaceful. It is a favourite I use for meditation.
Sea Reverie In a moment of calm she reaches within finds the spot where her soul can swim she circles like a shark bumps thoughts to check them out nibbles at the edges others, she bites down hard done with the sea her feet finds shore she lays back on sand gazes at the sky until the stars appear
The first thing I did in Bali was book myself for a 2.5 hour spa treatment, the young woman worked her magic and I found it was the first of several visits to the spa during my week long stay.
Seated here one day I reset … I recalled … there’s a phrase often used by people of a certain generation, especially from the area where my roots, from the father’s side of the family, are firmly embedded: “Let it be, baa“. ”Baa” being a term of endearment in the local dialect. My paternal grandfather often said this to my mother when she seemed fraught by some issue or other. Over the years, I had forgotten this. It is now gentle self-talk, each day.
I sat on a comfortable chair, sipping delicious ginger tea after my spa treatments and exhaled. I did nothing for half an hour but watch the ducks glide by and the turtle hugging a rock. There was nothing else in the world in those moments, except sit back and let it be. And when I did, time stood still.
Driven by deadlines in the city, life had become constricting. It was like being on a treadmill … the faster you run, the faster it moves and there’s danger is losing balance. This is where I was when I spent most of 2023 focused on getting my business and my health back on track. Until my reset in Bali.
Adopting a laissez-faire attitude does not have to be negative. I found it is highly likely I’ve returned to a balanced place because I practice letting go, letting all else fall away, being without direction, for a few minutes each day. On a personal level, I’ve found psychological and spiritual value in experiencing this each day.
My mantras when things don’t go to plan, are simple ones: All is well. Let it go. Let it be. There’s no harm in this thinking. I firmly believe at the end of the day, the Universe takes care of ‘business’. It helps me to travel ‘light’. And that’s the laissez-faire attitude I adopt in managing my life!
As a child I was interested in the wider world with only books to satiate my curiosity. It was a different time. A different world. Newspapers arrived at our doorstep a day later than it did in the city. There was no TV, no computers, no internet. Radio Ceylon (now Sri Lanka) crackled music and BBC news into our home twice a day and that was the reach of the wider world into mine. So all the knowledge I had came from books, and so it is not surprising, books have been a lifelong passion.
I knew very little about Australia except for one curious fact that fascinated me. Australian children who lived in the outback studied through School of the Air (SOTA). This concept was so far removed from my own experience of school that it puzzled me.
I was never more thrilled to see the equipment that was used by the SOTA somewhere along my journeys. I was even more thrilled when I got to observe a few siblings in the outback who were SOTA students. Of course, the technology has now changed to screen based learning, but I was quite impressed they were so focused on their work and took their breaks as the schedule dictated, returning to their desk exactly on time. Their behaviour was exemplary, with attention and turning taking developed into an art.
When travelling remote I always look for books written by local people. Their experiences and descriptions of life, as it was, is fascinating. I bought a book about Wiluna on one of my trips, a town that was thriving during the gold rush during the late 1800s, but now less populated. It lies on the edge of the Western Desert just over 900 km (over 500 miles) from Perth. Getting there requires some planning as it is not a town on everyone’s travel route.
The SOTA was developed in collaboration with the Royal Flying Doctor Service and I was interested to read that the wives of station owners or station managers would have a First Aid kit that they managed. They had nerves of steel managing unexpected breech deliveries, snake bites, farming accidents, infants having seizures and worse.
Wiluna museum, Western Australia
Over the crackle of the radio, the women would describe the emergency to the nurse or doctor. The medicines were all labelled by numbers, not by name.
Wiluna museum, Western Australia
Apparently there were less mistakes or misunderstandings, when numbers were called over the radio rather than unfamiliar names of medication. Simple and practical solution!
The technology back in the day was used as intended. People went about their life … until they needed it. Maybe there are lessons to learn from this.
View from my hotel room, Geraldton, Midwest, Western Australia
The chill of the night dissipates slowly. My room is warming. It is early morning. The horizon is ablaze. I know this. I sense it. I can no longer see it, my limbs keep me still. Old Charlie, at the foot of my bed, is restless. His movements, a cue. A latch springs open, the gate creaks. Old Charlie leaves me, tick tocking his way across my room, his paws scratching the wooden floor. Soldier, that he is, he stands by the door. I hear my son’s “Good morning Mum, hope you slept well”. I cough my early morning cough and rasp out a feeble, “yes, dear”. My son leans down and kisses my forehead. Each day I wish I had the strength to lift my arm and touch his face. As he lifts the leash off the hook, the one to the right of the front door, it is cue for Old Charlie to wag his tail, he knows the routine well. My son takes Old Charlie for a walk, they would be gone for at least half an hour, but not far. Old Charlie, like me, is slowing down.
I hear the gate creak, my son and Old Charlie have returned home. I, too, know the routine well.
So does the silent woman in a hotel room across the road, who visits from the city.
I am a slave to my camera. I can recall smiling when I found this feather. The sheer perfection stopped me in my tracks. I cannot help myself when I see the extraordinary, in the ordinary. It is usually the mundane that catches my eye.
It is past 11 pm as I write. My neighbours have just jumped into their pool with a big splash. The night is warm, the moonlight bright, their laughter, young and helpless.
“The more sand has escaped from the hourglass of our life, the clearer we should see through it.” Niccolo Machiavelli
I recall as a child, although conscientious about doing my homework, I would lose things on a regular basis and then get distressed. My father would stretch out his arms, shake the newspaper he was reading, and watch the drama with his glasses resting precariously on the tip of his nose. He would say with utmost patience, “If you had a place for everything, and everything in it’s place, you would not lose anything”. At other times he would say with even more patience, “What you don’t learn from advice, you’ll learn from experience”. I know both to be true.
Late in life I became more organised after leaving clothing, footwear and even jewellery in hotels. Now as soon as I check in, even if it is for an overnight stay, I keep my belongings in categories in specific places. Keys, jewellery together. Clothes categorised in packing cells. Laundry bag. Shoe bags. Toiletry bag. When I check out, I scoop my belongings and one final glance of the room, I’m out. This works a treat for me! I wanted to do the same at home but felt so overwhelmed at a huge task that I didn’t know where to start.
I read somewhere an average home in America can have up to 300,000 things in it. Once the renovations were completed, I felt the number reflected in my home too. It is not surprising the home had become a blackhole. So, two years ago I decluttered one cabinet drawer ruthlessly and it gathered momentum. The decluttering continues. It is a joyful and joy filled experience that I look forward to whenever I’m based at home. I walked around the home the other month and estimated it is probably going to take me a year to declutter. I’m doing it room by room, cupboard by cupboard. What has been decluttered remains that way. What does not have a place in my home, does not belong there and is given away. There are no more cabinets stuffed with things I may use one day. Those high heels from ten years ago, that remained brand new, I know I will never wear and had to go. I can reach into my pantry in pitch darkness and find exactly what I’m looking for. I do get tired sometimes after a trip and just dump stuff around. When looking at the clutter the next day, it does not take long to feel overwhelmed and when I do, it’s easier to get off the sofa when I think, “I know exactly where that goes” and I put it away.
When the healer in Bali asked me what I wanted from life. I said I wanted nothing and meant it. I felt I had all that I wanted. Then he asked me gently what I wanted for myself. Now that was a different question! It reduced me to tears when I found myself saying, I wanted time. I used to say I didn’t have time. It became a living mantra. But time was not my nemesis. It was stuff. I realised living a more minimalistic lifestyle is just a pebble in a pond. Having less stuff means using less resources, and no doubt, in a small way this is also having some impact on the planet, just not my wallet. I found when one is organised, a quick glance in the pantry or closet lets you assess whether you need to buy something or not. There is less wastage.
I relish the feeling when the home is tidy. Having things where they need to be, has helped me be where I need to be. The happy space was an unexpected outcome, but one I was looking for.
This is one view I love from above, the pink lake of Port Gregory. It is a landmark. Flying over it I know Geraldton is behind me and beautiful Shark Bay is beyond.
The colour pink is caused by a certain algae that is salt tolerant and produces carotenoids. It is not always pink. Once I walked along the shore of this lake and seen at ground level it was a faded, pale tinge. There is another pink lake in Esperance and despite visiting the town over 100 times, I have yet to see it as pink as this lake.
There are times when the colour is more vivid than it was on this day but always this piece of nature’s fairy floss, never fails to delight the eye.
It was around mid-year last year. As the financial year was winding up I was busier than usual. The hotel I stay at in one town messes up the booking each month and I was not looking forward to the trip. After staying in seven hotels in a month, and on three occasions at this particular hotel, I arrived at Reception hoping there would not be an issue. But, yes, they messed up again and blamed the computer. I haven’t stayed there since.
The next trip was exactly what I needed. Although my colleague and I have travelled a lot in this region, especially before the pandemic, this was unfamiliar country and we were open to a new challenge.
The logistics of visiting the community was daunting and required some careful planning but we were up for it!
Occasionally we would encounter traffic, the kind that makes you stop but unlike in the city where I’m frustrated and impatient at traffic lights, these are minutes to scan the sky for wedge tail eagles or wildlife in the bush.
Driving through towns with no midday peak hour traffic, is my kind of town!
Soon we were sharing roads less travelled, laughing and coughing our way through the dust.
We left civilisation behind and turned off-road with nothing but written directions to guide us. We could hardly contain our excitement and chattered incessantly, partly nervous about the unknown, and partly the sheer excitement of where we were headed.
The drive was long and we stopped along the way to stretch our legs. This arid region had received some rainfall and we knew the combination of unseasonable heat and rain meant wildflowers would arrive early.
There were patches of these succulents for kilometres by the side of the unsealed roads.
Tiny clumps of perfection.
And fields of gleaming white everlastings, crisp to the touch.
We finally arrived at our accommodation, a sheep station, the only place we could stay that was a central point to where we were going to work for a few days.
Being mid-winter, the nights were clear and cold. I stood alone on the back verandah and counted my blessings, my smile mirrored in the moon.
Mornings were filled with the raucous calls of the pink galahs that festooned the trees and from waking chickens that provided breakfast.
If it was cold outdoors, it certainly wasn’t indoors. There were roaring fires and hospitality to warm one’s heart. The salads and vegetables straight from the kitchen garden and protein from the station. I cannot remember the last time I enjoyed meals as much as I did here. Although there were just five of us at the dinner table (including the hosts), I felt I had been transported to another time where one talked, shared experiences, and being wifi free, enjoyed the meal without the constant glancing at the phone, as people do in the city.
Although the homestead is old and the only residential building designed in 1916 by Monsignor John Hawes (more about him in another post), the new bathrooms were adjacent to the bedrooms and across the back verandah. Just before leaving the homestead I ducked into the ladies before a long drive ahead when ….
I noticed this! Thinking this was a deterrent to encourage correct recycling, the owner laughed and stated, nope! They have snakes that come on the verandah and being wildlife they are not allowed to kill them, so they collect them and drop them off a few kilometres away from the homestead.
In a span of three days I had gone from standing at a Reception desk being thoroughly annoyed at check in, to being transported to another world. I know which one I prefer!
I reflected today if I was granted a wish, what would it be? There is only one thing I would want. It is time. And it cannot be bought, but one is richer when one realises this.
Found in a billabong, somewhere in the Midwest outback, Western Australia
It was a hot drive of several hours in the outback but rain had preceded our trip, so there were large billabongs along the way. We stopped at one to stretch our legs because my colleague had not seen so much water in these parts before. Knowing my love for photographing birds, she was convinced there would be waterbirds there. We parked the 4WD and walked across a deserted highway to the other side and with our boots squelching in mousse like mud we carefully walked along the edge of the billabong.
My steps were slower. I savoured the stillness. The silence. I was lost in reverie. The outback does that to me.
My colleague is a curious soul. She has a sharp eye for detail and sees things invisible to me. I cannot tell you how many times I have heard her call out in delight, “Oh! Loooook!”. This time she added, “What is it?!”
On our drive back, whenever we got some coverage, we would try and google what we found. The best we could find this is a species of Triops. If you view the image by expanding it, you’ll see how perfect a creature this is!
Pickpocketing is stealing without detection. One is distracted and before you know it, your valuable asset has been taken. This happens to me frequently. When I travel, I get distracted and before I know it, my heart has been pickpocketed by what others may regard as the seemingly mundane.
During a regional trip a few months and I went to the local hotel for dinner. Typical of a small tourist coastal town, it had the usual addendum, the pub, that one had to walk through to get to the restaurant. Forget about gleaming white linen table cloth. This is down to earth country. I love visiting places like this! I’m always on the lookout for local stories. I’m curious who lived here, who made the town, their own.
In the corner of the pub I noticed this simple and meaningful honour. In an instant I had a story about him in my mind, a stockman of course, who more than likely spent time at this pub quenching his thirst but also a man of, and for the community. I went back to my hotel room and searched for details about him. There wasn’t much but what I did find confirmed my perception. Pep was a stockman and judging from this honour in a small pub, he was larger than life in these parts. And, yes, this memorial, for a man who I never met, and those who created it, reached deep within and stole a piece of my heart when I was least expecting it.
The message I reflect on today is a simple one. Your heart is not always yours to give, sometimes, it can be taken surreptitiously. And, I’m okay with that.
I’m constantly on a quest to live more meaningfully and mindfully and to be honest, I’m not always successful at this. A lot of things get in the way. Then I found James Clear and reading Atomic Habits. I love some of the concepts he promotes.
I particularly like this quote:
“Every action you take is a vote for the person you wish to become. No single instance will transform your beliefs, but as the votes build up, so does the evidence of your new identity.”
Clear also promotes, “If you can get 1% better each day ….” that really grabbed my attention. I always dream big but seemed to have forgotten along the way, one percent each day, can make a huge difference over time.
So each day I practice my one percent. It could be as simple as putting things back where they belong to reduce clutter, or the impulsive text I want to send someone that can cause misunderstanding. There’s a degree of pleasure in achieving the one percent each day and I look for those ‘votes’ to cast, to become the person I want to be.
One of the things I wanted to change about myself was the over cautiousness I practice when I’m in an isolated place. It is probably better to be safe than sorry I tell myself but there was one recent incident that gave me the opportunity to practice that particular day’s one percent.
I was in Exmouth (some 1250 km or approx 800 miles north of Perth) and on the way to the airport I stopped at Pebble Beach. I love this beach for the bounty the tides bring in.
There’s so much marine history in each pebble and I don’t think I’ve been more than a few feet along the beach, where every pebble is of interest to me.
Unfortunately, Exmouth seems to have more warning signs about dingoes in the area, than I ever recall. There have been incidents in the town, so I was wary as I turned off the main highway, and headed to the beach car park. In the car park I found a kombi van but no one was around. I sat in the car wondering if I should risk a walk when I heard the beautiful classic music. It didn’t come from the van. It sounded distant and in this place of isolation, and on a hot day, so out of place.
It was a moment of magic. I heard the siren song and went in search of it. When I stood still, the music had movement. It was close and then faded. I threw caution to the wind, dingoes forgotten, isolation forgotten, I had to find the music. Then in the distance I saw a speck that did not look like anything that belonged on the beach. I zoomed in.
Just along the seam of sea and sand, a dark speck. (If you expand this on the phone you will it too). To my utter delight it was a young man, possibly a backpacker judging from his kombi van, playing the most beautiful music on his violin. He was so lost in the beauty he was creating, he did not notice me. (It’s possible I was a speck on the beach for him too). But despite the distance, I felt I was intruding, so I turned and walked away.
I sat in the car for a few minutes to reflect. I am naturally wary of dogs having been bitten twice by them but dingoes are predators and dangerous. I realised I had talked down anxiety. ”What were the chances of dingoes being on an isolated beach of pebbles, when they have a better chance of finding food in the scrub, just a couple of kilometres away”. I had overcome a moment of anxiety with reasoning. So I cast a vote that day.
A Shared Space 
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