Judging Your Worth

The self-esteem manual tells you that you are worth so much, there is only one of you, that what you bring to the world is special, unique and the sum of such varied experience that no-one can tell you that you are less than amazing.
Except that they do, and you are. On average, everyone is average. Such a small percent will ever make anything more of their lives than a home life or a single life or a family life. We will have moments of brilliance, moments of true inspiration or belief, but then we will be part of the moving shadows again. We will blame the environment, the harshness of politics, the faults in others, the weight of the world, the pace of technology, the absence of true love or a pair of designer sunglasses.
The fact is, we can only ever try. We can only ever strive and in the end we can only ever settle for the grey cardy of mediocrity.
So fuck the standards, the rules and the way things “should be”. Decide one thing by which you will judge yourself, your own worth – but make it _yours_. Make it something that is tied to your heart but also to your mind. Make it a big thick tie that can’t be snapped by what the magazines say fulfilment is this week. Judge yourself by that. Judge your worth by the seriousness of that tie and how well you keep to it.
Or not.


My Valentines Day Post

I’m drinking mojitos. That’s a whole load of mint and lime and ice and bacardi smashed up together by my husband.  So I possibly shouldn’t be writing right now. But I have to write. I have to, because my day has been so bad. A bad week, a bad month, a bad idea, if I think back far enough. But my man, well he says that I am wrong while he squeezes the lime juice from its broken body, while he crushes the mint between his long strong fingers. The green mint blackens, the same way his eyes will, if I say how messed up I am.

Our small, almost inadequate kitchen is stuffed with the scent of limes as their skins pile up juiceless and now useless on the sink. Listen to that rain, are we in Fiji again? No, just a regular Friday night with a twist. A twist of lime, a twist in life. Only a few letters difference. In  my case it is more than letters, it is whole words. Should I write what he wants me to write? Even if I know it has to be, does that mean I should? There I go using the “should” again.

It has been a dark month. So many months have passed without a dark one, that I’d almost forgotten how incredibly blind they leave you. Everything tainted and spoiled. A summer bag of fruit gone rotten on the trip home. Brand new clothes washed foolishly with a bright blue sock. Brimming with fault and then all of it becomes so fuzzy, so grey.

I suck on my bendy straw, trying to force the cloggy mint leaves through and up and out and away.

He works away, to  the light of the kitchen, the laptop, the tv. He is strong and opinionated and informed and ahead. He reasons, he shines, he builds and delivers. He cooks and reads and at the end of the day, he washes everything out, even the grey.

This is my man, my valentine. The one who hates limes and the smell and taste of mint.


I’ve been meaning to write this post for a little while now, but today I feel compelled. Today, someone I chat to through Twitter (@ozdj) was having an awful day. I, amongst others, suggested that he should buy a lottery ticket for having survived his morning. He promised to do just that and split the winnings with us. It didn’t actually suprise me to find out that he had won something (http://twitpic.com/12bcig). It didn’t suprise me because I believe that luck follows the generous and it was quite generous of @ozdj to offer any winnings to complete strangers.

Another friend in real life once complained that he deserved to win things because he was always participating in competitions and hadn’t won anything. I believe that if you participate in order to win, that is a pretty selfish reason. If you participate for the enjoyment of all, and care little for what you will get out of a situation – more often than not, this generousity of spirit is rewarded. It is probably not working that way at all. It probably has more to do with being “open” to an opportunity.

But anyway, I recently watched Chris Brogan’s “Just Lucky I Guess” where he talks about how he works hard to earn his luck and therefore people shouldn’t complain that he is “lucky”. This isn’t real luck of course. Real luck happens with little effort and little thought. You can work on opportunities, you can see ways to achieve – that isn’t luck at all. Luck is when you buy a ticket to see an ordinary comedy show in Sydney’s Kings Cross and as you sit down to watch, you are suprised by none other than Robin Williams and Jeff Garcia getting onto the stage to do comedy routines. This bit of luck was experienced by another person I follow on Twitter @sam_ikin.  No “hard work” required here other than buyin ga ticket of course :)

So where do I fit in all of this?

I am lucky.

In a very stupid way. If I am walking in a field of grass with no-one around me for 2km, I will find a $2 coin. Woopdeedoo. No, that is luck – because it is unexpected and completely unearned.
If I buy a meat raffle ticket at the local club when out with friends, I will win a meat tray. Sometimes more than one.

A great story here is that I was in such a situation and another friend looked sadly and said “I don’t buy raffle tickets because I never win”. I encouraged him to buy one. He said to me “fine but if I win, I will share it with you”. For the first time in his life, he won a meat tray. Not that I needed to profit from that, I think I won 3 trays that night!

On another occasion I won a members draw at the local club near my work and with the $2K I won I took all of my friends out on a catamaran for the day in Sydney Harbour. I blew the entire amount plus some, to share my good fortune. But fortune favours the generous because when I went back to the same club a few months later I won the draw again! It was like a petulant angel was shoving it in my jumper with a “I said TAKE IT”.

I’ve won tickets, I’ve won at the races, I’ve won on scratchies, I’ve even won a big flat screen tv. It is crazy and incredible and all of it, ALL OF IT, completely unearned. No hard work here, no opportunistic leaping on things. I don’t ever go out of my way,
I don’t enter every competition that crosses my path,
I don’t enter because I think I’m lucky ie I wouldn’t go enter the lotto and expect to win.

If I do enter something, most times I will win something.
If I do need a carpark, most times there will be one waiting for me.
If I do really want the brownies to turn out, most times they will. I’m not going to say all of the time, because my brother will remind me of the time my brownies turned to mush during transit to his house.

I have not won the Crust Pizza Friday competition on Twitter because I want to win it selfishly. I feel like I deserve to win some free pizza. Which is really wrong – because I have already won plenty of free pizza from other places that I have not used or shared yet. What is the name of the car that Memphis has no luck stealing in Gone In Sixty Seconds?  Crust Pizza is my Eleanor!

Anyway this has been a very very long post – but I am lucky enough to have found some time to write it, thank you for reading it :)

What do you think about luck? Is it a blessing? A curse? Voodoo? Or just all about being in the right place at the right time with the right attitude?

Too Beige

I don’t observe deliberately. I absorb and if squeezed hard enough, I can sometimes release that information, but it has muddied a little bit.

I almost love the evenings in summer. It is a symphony of birds that are frantically cramming the last moments of sunlight into their feathers before the final show. It is chaos and mayhem and colour and cooling. So many people are still awake and living. Darting here to go there to make that and see this. Sometimes there can be an encore and then a double encore, sometimes the humidity is soaking through everything, and the evening might never end.

But I do not love it as much as I love the morning. Morning gets cracked open by the sharpened smiles of the kookaburra and the magpie. Then colour is brought into the world, fresh every single day. I walk through it all and enjoy the spray from the ocean even as it soaks me through and through.

Drenched in beauty dusk til dawn and yet when I squeeze really hard and try to describe it… well it just comes out beige.

Luckily I always have my phone camera with me :)

Twitter and Being A Twit

There is no doubt, no doubt, that people have embraced twitter like a chocolate coated almond.

I am one of them.

I have fought for its use, and praised its use and just plain used it, day in and out, for everything from random blurts to information sharing to full on search and news gathering. But it is exhausting, if I didn’t need to participate in it for the various roles I’ve held, the question is, would I?

It reminds me of email, in the way that it steadily choked the easy breathe in-out of the letters I once could write. Or the way in which sms, slowly dismembered my ability to call someone on the very same device. What is twitter effecting? My ability to hold a longer conversation, one not involving lolcats and rofls and bit.lys. I am getting tired of a conversation that doesn’t provide me with instant feedback. I hate postponing until next week. I want my response now..in 140 characters or less from as many people as there are with Internet access.

I am probably just a paranoid android.. a twit in twitter or a nut inside the seemingly delicious outer goo of a new communication form. I’d like to know what you think? Are we a bit crazy?