Do I forget the fun stuff that I’ve done over 46 years, or is there just so much trauma, that it messes with the Neuro-transmitters, or maybe just more of this flower opening realisation that I have spend soooo long on the destination, I miss the journey – EVERY STEP OF THE WAY!?
As I’m sitting at home on an uneventful Saturday morning, although silently anxious since Advent is only 17 days away, and I’m not even close to being ready, a reminder comes up on my google photos, which leads me into the the usual deep-dive, time wasting rabbit hole of doing everything except what I sat down to do – and I see a photo. A photo that reminds me that when I was once far braver than I am inclined to be now (thanks to having a 7yo), I stood at the edge of an active volcano for hours, and and marvelled at the molten lava spewing from the earth in its uncontrollable, yet mesmerising form. Yeah – I willingly climbed an active volcano, and smelt that sulphuric acid for hours, and took days to get that ash from my hair ears and nose. Lots of people have done this, but of all the people in the world, and certainly of the one’s that I’ve met, not so many. And yet, when asked what cool stuff I’ve done, my brain fails to remember that I have even had this experience.
10 years prior, I jumped out of a “perfectly good aeroplane”! … I was in San Francisco at the time. I’ve walked the streets of Paris at night, being comfortable with the culture and language, despite growing up in a very small regional town in Australia. I’ve done a New Years Eve in Sydney as a single person on a blind date, and caught fresh tuna in the ocean and cooked it on a beach … yeah, I’ve definitely enjoyed moments.
And yet … to get my brain to recall any of these lovely memories, it has to process the other stuff. Who I was with, why I was there, what happened beforehand, or after – the stories or narratives we tell ourselves. In the autobiography of Clare Bowditch “Your Own Kind of Girl”, she remarks that this book is about the ‘stories we tell ourselves’. My interpretation, it is the changing of the narrative.
I’ve been on the theme of ‘my journey’ for a little bit now (ok, for a lot, since it’s in the Bio for the page), but if there is capacity to change the narrative, the ability to remember the fun stuff, what’s the link for me?
There is the ever-grinding remark from the psychologist … mindfulness … or grounding ourself to the now. I also wonder if it’s in the sharing. Being brave enough to truly be vulnerable with another person to share … and be shared with.
So no, I don’t think I’ve forgotten my life over 46 years – it’s just seen through a different filter. Yes, there is trauma, and a pretty decent amount of it, but time, and and active choice to heal is part of that journey (not a destination). There is also a willingness, although it does take a moment or two, to look at each part of the story with a new realisation. And really, there is constant forgiveness – for all the things I’ve said, done, thought, to me and other people.
It’s a really ugly moment when you realise that part of the reason you don’t tell a story, or even just forget it, is you have no way to spin it in your favour. But eff, what a beautiful trusting moment is shared when you become brave enough to do that – but that can take decades.
And now, it’s off to enjoy a delightfully “who know’s what” kinda day – I don’t get many of those. 😁🌈
Doing Life Differently 