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 few months ago I spent a week in Bali. My first visit in forty years. I went overseas filled with trepidation. The long walks at airports being one of them.
Yes, there were changes but there were many other things that remained unchanged. I loved how the Balinese people start their day with a gesture of prayer. They have little offerings made of leaves, flowers and incense as a symbol of gratitude at their front door or business. A lovely reminder how to start one’s day. For me, gratitude is a gesture of oneness, with whomever one acknowledges that to be, that knits yesterday, today and tomorrow, seamlessly.
I had some specific things I wanted to do while I was in Bali and the usual tourist activities were definitely not the plan. The thing I wanted to do most was to visit a healer. My driver took me deep into the heart of Ubud. Even he was unfamiliar with the roads and had to stop and ask for directions several times in small villages. We reached our destination. I sat at his feet. The man, a stranger to me. His first words to me were not to share anything about myself with him. He held my feet and looked deep into my eyes for several minutes. The intimacy of the moment took me by surprise. He then proceeded to tell me a few things about my life where I had come from and where he thought I would be in the future. Sceptical, I took it all in with a big pinch of salt.
Returning to the hotel I found myself in a different space. I wanted to wander around the beautiful gardens and did this effortlessly. I saw things I wanted to see. I found peace in unexpected places and surprisingly, within me, too. I did not touch my laptop for a week and I cannot remember the last time I did that. But my camera which has been out of reach suddenly found me again. Was it the healer’s words? I’ll never know. I felt I was back, with stories to tell.
While walking next day I noticed this wall. I loved how the soft moss nestled along the lines gave an illusion of ‘mending’, these big rocks into a wall. It made me stop and examine nature’s art more closely. There was something analogous about this but what, was elusive.
That night the urge to write again was strong, almost visceral. The wall, physical and metaphorical, reminded me of the Japanese art of kintsugi where broken pottery is repaired with gold; the transformation a new creation, made more beautiful, than the original. Not because of the gold, but because the eye is drawn to what was once imperfect and travels along each join, where the narrative is told.
I wrote this in response
she ran her fingers through the pieces sifted the broken
the chosen ones, she placed in sequence piece by piece glued with gold
the bowl, emerged whole unbroken
by a dawn bird
There was a space within me that I wanted to share, when I started this blog some years ago. It is a space that is sacred to me. It is who I am. As vulnerable as it makes me, it is my authentic self.
May the new year bring you good health and happiness. May you seek to find that sacred place where imperfection is art and beauty is in the eye of the beholder. If you do, you may find this in people too.
It’s been a while since I shared this space with you. I’m still trying to find my way navigating through what was once familiar territory.
Life and work have resumed for me. The road to here has been torturous in some ways, but always hopeful while I looked beyond the now. I wanted to be back and I knew I would be back. So intent have I been on being well again and resuming my old lifestyle that there have been times I have forgotten to take my camera with me when I work regionally. Not this night in late August. I set my alarm to early morning and was fortunate to have a hotel room with a balcony that gave me this view. It took my breath away … or maybe … it put some breath into me. Whatever that moment may have been. I am here and it’s good to be back.
I’ll soon have time to share your space and I hope you too will share mine.
I’m back! Maybe intermittently, but back and hoping it will be a better year for everyone, than last year.
The end of year was busier than usual but I was thrilled to be offered work in the South West of the state, my last trip being to tall timber country. It is not an area one would want to visit during summer, being heavily wooded areas and the risk of bushfires. The upside it was easier to find accommodation even though it was peak school holiday season. Maybe the drive out, some four hours (from my home) and perhaps similar to other city folks, deterred families with children travelling that far in heat. Unlike other small towns in the South West, this area was quiet. Not just quiet. It was perfect.
Pemberton, Western Australia Each morning I woke early and headed to the nearby forest, home of the majestic karri trees. Once I knew what I could find there, it became a trip I made three times a day.
It is unfortunate my faith promotes a negative connotation for the word temptation, but I’ve walked away from that (no pun intended!). For me, it is a feeling I’ve come to respond to in a very positive way. It gets me out of my comfort zone. I’ll explain.
Three months ago I could barely walk two doors down to my neighbour’s home without extreme fatigue. So I avoided most walks, I ordered groceries online, and the unavoidable walk had to be the one I take for work a few times a month. It was the longest walk – being from taxi to terminal and terminal to tarmac. I would find my seat on the aircraft and watched others give me concerned looks as my mask billowed on my face.
Each day I sunk to lower thinking, this is life now, as I know it. At the airport I started to read my old posts with a mixture of sadness and joy recalling some of my experiences. So when I got to Pemberton at the end of the year, despite the heat, I headed to the trees for some ‘forest bathing’ to lift my spirit.
I sat in the car park for the longest time the first day I got to the national park. I yearned to be walking. I zoomed in and saw the magnificence of the trees at ground level.
Soon I was out of the car and taking a few steps towards it.
The symbiotic relationship may be parasitic between the strong tree and delicate creeper, but for me, it represented something else. There is a certain tenacity in the most delicate of organisms, the will to survive.
I took a few steps further. Once a tall tree, having served the forest, remains home and a vibrant living environment for all kinds of insects and birds. More on the delightful birds in another post!
Despite the heat, there were remnants of spring if I looked for this.
Beautiful native ferns.
Flowering creepers.
Infused by nature, my spirit drew me deeper into the forest. An enchanted forest, all for me. Above me the tall gum trees rustled in the light breeze. If you close your eyes, you hear the sound of the sea in the movement of the leaves.
The return to the car took several attempts.
This is red winged fairy wren country. Those who are familiar with my blog, would know me by now. This was a temptation I was not going to resist!
The trip to the forest country was just what I needed.
On my return to the city, I set up my pedometer and found I barely walked 500 steps a day when I’m home based. That had to change! Within a week I was walking 3 km (nearly two miles) a day. My goal is to double that distance each day.
I accept pain is a constant companion but one that does not intrude, deter or distract, if I manage it with healthy living – eight hours sleep, keeping well hydrated and reducing stress. Such simple strategies have made a world of difference. But, fatigue was my nemesis. A vicious cycle I had inflicted on myself – “I’m fatigued, I can’t walk” which lead me to become more fatigued.
Maybe it took a forest, or maybe just one tree, but I have returned to where I want to be. May you, too, find the space you want to be in.
I love photographing surfers. On this particular day, I could see them through the camera lens under a dull, overcast sky. The reason I like taking their photographs is that there is something very purposeful about their stride. They go out with hope of catching that exhilarating wave, the one that rises high, curls, and comes all the way in to the shore. They walk back to their car, spent, exhausted but having achieved what they set out to do.
Each morning I wake and visualise the foaming ocean. The blue of sky and sea. The screech of seagulls. The smell of kelp. And at the edge of that shore, like a surfer I watch and wait, then I plan what I am able and hope to achieve that day. The thoughts take shape and become an itemised plan and my day emerges carefully thought out. Without it, I would be rudderless.
One of my most prized possessions at the moment is an hourglass timer. There is a brutal reality in each grain of sand that makes up the hour. I no longer have a whole beach at my feet and maybe, none of us do, but guided by the hourglass, I have never been more productive. My footsteps never been more purposeful.
For me, living with intent within the parameters that life (or some may say, destiny/fate) dictates, is a gift one gives to self. It is self-care. It is self-realisation. It is self-discovery. In a nutshell, it is self-actualisation.
Six weeks into spring, it feels like we have had the longest winter. I woke to rain again today. Right now, a sliver of sunlight cuts across the back yard and it gave me reason to write again.
Just Enough Winter was full of drama awake under skies ablaze the sudden thunder cringe feeling, rolled up within furrowed in the winter dark that place, in my heart hope seeds take hold, in spring
Alone in a darkened hotel room this week I reflected that I have a curious mix of stamina and hope. Having suffered another minor RA flare up while away I sent my colleague an email late at night saying I was unwell but would be at work the next day. I ended the email with, “I will NOT allow this to get to me”. The pain subsided around 1 am and I slept either because it did, or I was exhausted from it. The important thing is, I got to work on time and, energised by my ability to do so, I worked as I usually do.
In a roundabout way this feeling of hope came about when reading about the Edo Period in Japan, a time when ‘just enough’ or sustainability seemed to underpin peace. I have endured days, weeks, months panicked by the thought of the future where my lifestyle of living fully, may be curtailed. But when thinking about the concept of ‘just enough’, I’ve found I don’t need spades of hope each day, I just need enough to get by. This thinking has brought enormous peace. There is no feeling of wanting more, or thinking, what if … I do what I have to do with whatever resources I have in that given moment. There’s a certain stillness, a calm this brings and yet, there is momentum too, that helps me move forward.
May you find something in your day that is ‘just enough’, too.
A Shared Space 
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