When people ask what advice you’d give your younger self, it’s usually sprinkled with words of caution ranging from “trust your gut”, “surround yourself with people who believe in you”, or even, “don’t eat where you shit – never date a co-worker”.
But nobody ever talks about words of praise for that version of yourself, such as pride for having the courage to dance on podiums or words or when you looked at so-and-so square in the eye, and called them the ‘c’ word.
Years ago, I identified as “feisty”. My pronouns would have been “try me”.
I miss her.
She was bold and she was brash. She was arrogant and self-assured in a way that was electric and kind of drew you in for the ride, and even though a potential car crash was imminent, you knew the playlist, illicit substances and the conversation would be worth the bang.
Years later, she is my very own muse, as I reflect back on the audacity that brimmed from a fusion of tenacity and inexperience, along with a voracious desire to see, to learn, to understand and to experience the vastness and richness of life.
There were junctions and potholes that led to essential rites of passages that humbled my younger self. From people that were caught in the crossfires of experiences, with my lack of skill in navigating a smoother ride, to the decision to be brave and venture out of my comfort zone, and promising to back myself if any speed humps diverted into unknown terrain.
Today I find myself reflecting on her with a tenderness and an admiration that is new to me. I realise this has much to do with how forward focused I have become in my quest to achieve more, but I am reminded of the beauty of hindsight and how important it is for self-reflection and healing, as I look back on a journal entry from 4 months ago:
‘Today I seek inspiration from nature and knowing that I’ll meet a friend at a cafe, I decide to venture out of my apartment a little earlier, and bring my laptop to a nearby park where I claim a patch of grass in a sunny spot and start to clammer at my keyboard.
I am happy but a little half-hearted, as I allow myself to be distracted by people watching and interactions with children who play nearby. There is a family from Italy, and I speak to them in a very broken accent, causing the children to laugh at my clumsy mispronunciations as they correct me and tell their parents that they found a new “amica”.
Their mum says they have moved here recently, and they are still adjusting to their new environment and conversations in English that is spoken faster than the ones in their classroom back home. I make up a game with them as they ride their bikes away and then come back, pretending to have bought me groceries from the supermarket.
It was a good way to practice their fruit and vegetable vocabulary and once we run out of legumes and pasta, I start being more creative and ask for things like happiness and smiles.
When the littlest of them comes back and says everything back to me, the word “inspiration” has been recalled by her as “constipation” which makes everyone laugh before they bid me farewell and hug me goodbye.’
On that day, I vowed to pay tribute to my creative muse by finding some local dance classes and starting regular Italian lessons again.
None of that happened as my dad had another stroke and was subsequently hospitalised for almost 2 months. We traversed the rollercoaster of him almost passing, but he decided that he was not quite ready to leave this earth just yet.
He did however need to leave his much loved home as his care needs have increased and my mum can no longer care for him on her own. This has been confronting as it has challenged her archetypal identity of being a nurturer / carer, and she is slowly adjusting and coming to terms with how unsustainable it would have been for her.
If anything, her nervous system is finally starting to unravel and is bringing out its own medical needs that have been neglected for the past 3 years, and are now demanding they be attended to. I have been initiated into fresh hospital visits and doctors’ appointments for ailments whose turn it is to be mended.
I experienced my own version of this when we took a quick trip to Bali to decompress. My first trip to this beautiful island of the gods was 27 years ago and was also my first overseas trip alone. I have been back on numerous occasions ever since and never have I ever experienced Bali belly.
While it’s much more commercialised than it used to be, on this occasion I was grateful for this, as there were cushion covers and couch blankets that urgently needed to go to the dry cleaners, and it took a few days before I could look my partner in the eye again. 🤦🏻♀️
I also managed to nab a flu on the way back which worsened when I got back to Sydney, and by the time I even thought to check if it was covid, it would have been too late, as I likely would have tested negative anyway.
My work commitments mean it’s unlikely that I will start those lessons for another month or so, but I did manage to record a podcast, to assist you when you need to place your loved one into an aged care facility.
This interview was so well received on both Apple and Spotify, so if your loved one is heading in the aged care home direction, I’m sure you’ll get a lot from tuning in.
My friend Paul was a godsend and offered me very helpful advice when a few bureaucratic blocks reared their red tape my way. I mean I’m not as feisty as I used to be, but it’s nice to know I can still call on my old muse when I need her. 😉
Until we cross paths again, I am sending you lots of love,
Patty thank you so much for my 1:1 balance session. You’re as light hearted as when I met you so many years ago, but also wise beyond your years. I feel calmer and clearer. The road is long, but I feel confident with the tools you’ve shared with me over our 2 sessions. They work well with annoying colleagues as well – haha!