30-50

This past weekend I went to the theatre to watch some dance pieces and a great band.  After the show, whilst milling around in the reception, some of the audience were asked to fill out surveys.  How often do you come to the theatre? How did you hear about this show?  I was dutifully juggling my theatre wine and clip board, ticking boxes like there was no tomorrow and then, then I got to the age section.  You guys, the only box appropriate for me to tick (without lying) was 30-50.  There it sat, just below 25-30 (which suddenly sounded insanely youthful), looking up at me, sweetly waiting to be slashed through the belly with a pen mark.

I lent against the wall for support and dragged my brain back out of the rabbit hole of ‘aahhhhhh’.  And then I started thinking, waidaminute, nowadays, sometimes, mostly in fact, I feel so happy and grateful.  Simple little words ‘happy’ and ‘grateful’.  Words straight out of a pre-school song, and yet, so powerful in the way they open doors, that you never knew where there, to the garden and let the sunshine in.  If being in the 30-50 box means hanging out with those two words, then I’m grabbing a sun hat, taking my shoes off and getting comfortable.

I took a sip of wine, gave the (newish) ol’ smile lines some exercise and slashed that box straight across the belly.

PS. I am most grateful for this sound.

[My brother Joel is a fashion designer and the taker of this photograph.  You guys, he is ameezing.]

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Things I’m Afraid to Tell You

Australia – Heart Poundingly Happy

Yesterday I stumbled upon this super brave post written by blogger Erin Loechner in which she compiles a list of all the things she is afraid to tell her readers.  Personal things, embarrassing things, things that are a little messy and not pinterest worthy, things that just take courage to talk about.

I read the list, I chuckled, I blushed and I realised it was time to do the same.  Here goes:

-I went to Australia and didn’t blog.  And then I came back and didn’t blog.  I just spent weeks swimming in an ocean of no words and a weird see saw of guilty apathy.  And I missed it and felt like I couldn’t remember how to write.  Or be honest about some things that terrified me. And the funny thing about words is that they breed like rabbits.  Words make more words make more words.  Unless they don’t.  And then you’re just left in the hazy, misty woods with one lonely rabbit hopping around.

-I am really not happy with the design, layout, look of Ameezing.  She needs alot of love.  It feels like I’m still faxing whilst everyone else is tweeting.  I’m finally working on that.

-I am genuinely terrified that I won’t ever find someone.  Wait, Someone.  To build a life with, to ‘Hey honey, how was your day?’ with, to make the babies that I can dress like  mini grown-ups with.  And I have no idea what to do about it.

-And I’m broody.  What an unfortunate combination.

-I still have this problem.

-Blushing, the Judas Iscariot of all public interactions is getting worse.

-Sending stuff that I have written to anyone still feels like the most terrifying, impossible thing.  Why is that wall so high? (Blog writing to you, dear ameezings, aside).

-In my next life I would very much like to come back as Katniss Everdeen.  Very, very much.

So, with those, I am declaring Chapter Two of Ameezing the Blog, begun.  Thank you for your patience and gentle (and not so gentle but super needed) encouragement to get back on the blogging horse.  Galloping feels a little like flying.  And flying feels ameezing.

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