a beautiful beginning…

Happy New Year!

It's raining as I write this, on the second day of the first month of a new year. Everything feels fresh and promising, while at the same time, there's a comfort to sitting here in my known space, my kids pottering around me, the cat licking herself, the chink of my husband's spoon against his cereal bowl…

It's a new year and a new beginning…and it's a comfortable, well-worn life, all at once. There's something truly beautiful about seeing the Old and the New sitting with each other, nodding across the way, eyes crinkling into smiles.


I haven't been here for a while, and it's been a busy, happy time. We have had so many adventures, exciting discoveries, disappointments, triumphs. In the meantime, life has sauntered and roared by…terrible and beautiful things have happened all around the world. I've watched, cried with grief and joy, laughed, and accepted.

A year ago, I was incredibly sick and impossibly sad. Today…my whole Self feels clear, aware, peaceful, mindful, joyful. At least, on most days. :)

Last year—the enormous and incredible 2012—was my year for getting better and staying better. Over the course of the year, my mantra became "BE BETTER."

I wrote it on a piece of paper early on, and stuck it to my wall
—where I have looked at it, thought it, lived it, every day since.

What does "Be Better" actually mean? Well, it has so many meanings. Wild and lovely layers of meaning.

It's not just about being, and staying healthy, although that is one huge, important aspect.

It's also about:

Doing good things. Doing mindful and caring things. Being compassionate and choosing kindness above all else. Choosing a path towards light and positivity, making choices that lift yourself and others up.

It also, for me, means being a vegan.
Being an animal advocate.
Being a pacifist.
Being a human rights defender.
Being an environmentalist.
Believing that the voiceless matter.

"Be Better," for my kids and husband, means all these things too. It also means that in our homeschooling path, we have chosen a type of learning that is sometimes labelled "natural learning," "child-led learning," and "unschooling." But for us, the way we homeschool is simply "Life." I used to worry about what homeschool label we fit under. Now, we just do. We read, we explore, and we create. We learn. Every day is different. Our homeschooling days feel organic, flowing, both simple and complicated, and they fit us perfectly.

So there you have it.

If you wanted to put us in a Box, a big BE BETTER box, this is what you'd find!

And I suppose all these things I've listed are what make us up, but we are so much more than these parts, too. And we are always discovering something new about ourselves, every day. So "Be Better" is also about being open. Discovering. Letting in the New and the Scary and the Unknown. It is about letting in the world and not being afraid to live.


I guess my "Be Better" can be summed up by these three words:

1. Respect (always. Never stop for a second),
2. Love (always. Never stop for a second), and
3. Learning.

Always. Never stop for a second!


It's that simple?

For me, it is.


And that means the title that's been waiting all this time to sit at the top of this space of mine
has finally arrived!

And I get a chance, on this brand new year, to reintroduce myself, make a new space,

and have a fresh beginning.

Where joy can bound out, along with my simple tales of the day, and pictures of cats, and snippets and beauty…
and I can share my BE BETTER with you…

with a smile this big
and hope this large
and love this kind
and peace flowing.



This is who I am. This is who we are.

It is so lovely to meet you!

month of goodness

I would like to preface this post by saying, My heart goes out to those who have been through Hurricane Sandy, from Cuba to Canada. I am thinking of them, thinking of those who have lost so much. I hope their healing can happen without further sorrow, and that recovery comes smoothly. Sending warm, good wishes out, over the sea. 




I love November.

It's filled with so much goodness you have to take it a single bite at a time.

You have to close your eyes,

slow down time,

savour each minute as it comes.


Yesterday was the first day of the month.

It was really really hot, and filled with tennis and drama group and art class and juggling.

This is where we do drama group …

Isn't it beautiful?

But it was mind-bendingly hot out there, so we ended up in the hall up the hill. I'd reserved it Just In Case of wet weather, only to realise it's perfect for much-too-much-heat, too.

Imagine a hall filled with children laughing.

See?

Goodness.


Later, in juggling class (which we do as a family, all four of us), I juggled the balls NINE times without dropping them!

AND I figured out the diabolo, and could put my foot on the string and flip the diabolo over while it stayed spinning. Woot!

AND I learned to juggle cigar boxes. I could actually do it. The teacher said, "I think you've found your thing, Helena! I'm going to have to learn more tricks to teach you." Who'd've thunk it?

Ah, juggling class. I think I have found a new Love. I can't wait for next Thursday. Seriously. I can't believe I have to wait a whole week to go again.


November is the month of Happy Busy like this, but that's like a lot of our months—we are so lucky to live this life sometimes I have to (gently) pinch myself.


So what makes this month so Extra Specially Good, then?

Well, I'm glad you asked!

November is the month of birthdays!

My girl turns 10 on Sunday!

I turn (insert age) on Tuesday!

And my niece turns 21 at the end of the month.

We are going to have parties and dinners and go on getaways. There'll be a lot of singing, and feasting, and candle blowing. And there'll be a LOT of hugging, which is always my favourite part.

I can feel the goodness rising, just thinking about it :)

November is the month of writing!

And writing. And writing. And more writing! Because we (my son, daughter, mother, nieces, friends and I) are all doing NaNoWriMo. It stands for National Novel Writing Month. It really should be called IntNoWriMo, because people all over the world register.

We've each committed to writing a novel this month. My mum, nieces and I have all said we'll write 50,000 words before the 30th. That's FIFTY THOUSAND WORDS. Crazy! My kids and their friend have each said they'll write 30,000. That's THIRTY THOUSAND WORDS.

Isn't it wild?

Isn't it good?

Yes. Yes it is.

And,

November is world vegan month!

People will be talking about kindness and compassion all this month (and longer, too, I hope). People will be sharing recipes. People will be speaking and writing and learning—about how animals are treated on this planet, in places like factory farms and circuses, rodeos and slaughterhouses.

People will be talking about love and people will be trying to find new ways of co-existing on the planet with other thinking, feeling creatures—creatures who love their young as we do, are sociable as we are, who deserve a life free of fear and suffering as we do, and who trust us.

My family and I feel so good to be on this vegany path. It feels amazing to know that nothing we eat or support has brought fear or pain to another living being. I love that this month of awareness exists, and that the awareness is growing, every minute.



The goodness, rises, and rises.


I can feel it, as I sit, and breathe, and be.

I love that November is here, and I get to live it.

I love that I am here, in this moment,

and I get to live.

back

Hey.

HEY!

So, we're back. We've been back from our trip for three weeks now, and it's taken a while to adjust.

We tore straight into term 4 like it was a train we had to catch on the run, like we were hobos and we were racing after that thing with our bootlaces flapping and our hair in our eyes. We leaped on, and have been rattling on the rails ever since, looking at each other like, "Dude, why are we on this train called Reality and not still on holidays in Western Australia and looking at the sun setting over the sea?"

We're, all of us, shaking our heads a little in surprise. Or maybe that's just me. I don't think the kids mind. They got into a reading and writing rhythm while on holidays that just hasn't quit. All they want to do is write and read and read and write and so that's kind of all they're doing. Meanwhile, I keep looking around and trying to come to terms with the fact we aren't on holidays any more and the sun isn't setting over the sea.

So, how was it?

It was awesome. Awesome, then more awesome, like an cake made of awesome, with icing made of awesome dolloped on top, and more awesome on the side!

It was one of the happiest times of my life, actually.

But I took a lot of photos. Like, 1,400 photos. And when I got back I thought, "I need to blog about our trip!" But then I looked at ALL the photos and thought, "Ohhhh. Maybe tomorrow."

Which turned into "I will blog about it, but not today and tomorrow we're busy. So I'll do it the next day, or whenever I can sort out one thousand and fourteen hundred photographs."

Which turned into, "It's too hard. Maybe I'll start in November."

Which turned into, "How will I ever blog again??"

And that, of course, morphed into that classic existential question of:

"WILL I ever blog again?"

Well the answer is, Yes.

YES!

I have decided to try and write a little bit about our trip, then write about life, then write a little bit more about our trip, then more about life, and so do it in manageable pieces, like a home-made quilt. It might be funny shaped and have frayed edges, but it's my quilt and I already love it to bits, as unformed as it is.

Our Trip to Western Australia

Story #1.

I got on that plane.

It wasn't easy; actually it was one of the hardest things I've ever done. Over the years I seem to have built my fear up until it has been extraordinary—this sturdy castle where I've holed myself up like a girl in the tower, or the grimy bearded dude in chains in the dungeon, or like the Beast. Whatever the analogy, there I had placed myself, more and more stuck, from the time I was 16 'til now.

It took a LOT of work, months, just to book the plane. I'd been working on this solidly with my counsellor and my naturopath and my doctor for the past 9 months, and booking the plane was a huge step. A big healthy leap forward in managing my depression and anxiety.

But then it turned out I had to actually get on the thing.

On the day of the flight, all was mostly well…just a little tangle and jangle of nerves, until I was actually on that gangplank, walking towards the door of the plane.

Oh. My.

Fear rose up and nearly swallowed me whole.

I walked and slowed. Slowed, slowed, until my kids were up ahead with their Nana, and people were streaming past like trucks on the freeway.

I kept looking at my husband. "Are we really doing this?"

"Yes," he said, firmly, gently.

Slower and slower we went down the gangplank. Almost to a crawl.

"Really? Are we really?"

"Yes," he said.

At some point, he slid his hand between my backpack and my back. And we kept moving forward.

All I really remember is the urge to stop. The urge to sit. The urge to turn and run away from the plane.

And I remember my husband's warm hand between my shoulder blades.

At some point, my kids were at the door of the plane. Their Nana could get on, but they needed boarding passes. I had those, in my hand. My kids' heads turned, and they searched for me. I waved.

"They're with me!" I said, brightly.

And time sped up.

There we were at the door.

There we were handing passes to the flight attendant.

There. We were. On the plane.

In all the visualisations I'd done with my counsellor, nothing quite captured the metal-in-the-mouth, cold-skinned terror I felt then.

This was my worst nightmare. I was on a plane.

And my husband stood nearby.

He told me later that he'd kept a pressure on, with that warm hand of his, kept his hand firm on my back, knowing how much I wanted to turn and run.

He kept me moving forward. He steered me onto that plane, with love, so that I could face my fears, live through a moment I had built into a monster, and go have an extraordinary holiday with my family.

We flew, and I only cried three times.

And I told myself I was safe. And I smiled at my kids. And I noticed when my thoughts tried to sabotage me. And I gave myself a good stern talking to once, in the bathroom. And there was turbulence and a bumpy landing, but we were fine.

And when I got off, for the first time in years, I didn't swear I would never do that again.

I thought, We have landed.

And I took a photograph.

And I felt grateful and I felt excited and I thought, I am glad that's over, and then… I let it go.

And went and had one of the best holidays of my life.

the most important thing I have to tell you

I've come to realise that the thing I most value in life is kindness.


Kindness is respect and love, intertwined.


Kindness is choosing

to think outside ourselves,

being aware of the consequences of our actions,

thinking how others might feel about the things we say and do.

Kindness is choosing not to bring suffering onto others.

Kindness is compassion.


But kindness isn't soft, no sir. Kindness isn't pink and Hallmarky. There are no kittens and bows on my kindness card!

My kindness has muscles and steel and strength. My kindness asks me to rise above a moment when I'm tempted to be snarky to someone, or say things about someone behind their back.

My kindness asks me to say sorry, to own the moments where I've been wrong.

It involves choosing paths that are sometimes difficult or different from the norm.

My kindness has me saying no to choices that cause another living thing to suffer pain or fear.


Sometimes I think if all anyone ever chose in life was to be kind, the simplest path would open up in front of them.

You would see it, ribboning out. It would glow. And whenever you were faced with a choice, you could say, Which is the kindest? And so your life would be laid out in easy pieces, the yellowest, finest, brick-est road.

It seems so simple, some days.

But a couple of months ago I had to make a hard decision. This one was tricky.

In order to be kind to myself, I had to possibly disappoint and hurt someone else. For years, I'd let myself be part of a situation that caused me suffering because I wanted to be nice. I thought that was the kindest choice. I thought kindness meant I had to sacrifice my own happiness and wellbeing.

But that's not what I mean by being kind.

Kindness is recognising that sometimes the person you have to nurture is yourself. And if you're honest about that, if you take ownership of your own needs and wellbeing, and you are clear and you are gentle, then that isn't cruel. It's being true.

And truth is the white-hot core of kindness. Not the "truth" people use when being judgemental or pushing their agenda, knowing it'll hurt someone else. But truth that comes without malice or words that bite. Truth that's filled with compassion for others. Truth that respects, loves, and honours other living things with a fiery, steady light you can see for miles.


Kindness is all these things of beauty
held together in two hands,

cupped.


Kindness is a living thing;

you can feel its pulse beating against your fingers,
along and into your skin.

Do you feel it? It beats as you beat.

It has your heart.

the time has come…

to really introduce my husband. He is the coolest, listening-est, kindest, most creative, dedicated and compassionate grown up I know…

and the funniest person I've ever met.

This video is of him, at juggling class.

He's been taking the class with my boy and my girl for a term (I'm planning to join them next term—it's too much fun to miss!),

and this was his final performance for the group.

Here he is,

The Breakneck Juggler.

I'm really glad he didn't actually break anything.

And I'm really, really glad I married him.

:)

kind of awesome

My boy started juggling in April.

He practises it for hours because he can 

(no bus to catch in the morning, 

no hours and hours of designated work in the day, 

no homework at night),

because this skill is honoured and treated as equal to

any other learning he might do,

and because it brings him joy.

So he has become 

kind of awesome at it.

:)

it is a beautiful day today

Spring is here. You can tell because the peach tree has erupted, quite suddenly, with bright pink blossoms.

Yesterday I sat in the sun on a bench with a lizard in my hands. He sat so quietly on my finger, his little heart beating. He didn't try to run; he simply soaked in the sunlight. We named him Maximus before we released him on to the grass. At some point I looked up into the peach tree and could see bees by the dozens, buzzing from flower to flower to flower, gathering. 

Yesterday, I went to my naturopath, and together we finally flushed out the seed of doubt laid by a doctor about 6 weeks ago. This doctor (not my usual), really pushed for me to get some Xanax for my upcoming flight. When I told him I had a natural supplement that worked well with anxiety, he said with a little smile, "Well, it's always nice to have a placebo." And when I said again, I would rather not take Xanax if possible, he said, "Well, once you're on that plane, it's hard to get off!"

I left his office, and let his words seep in as the days passed. I let his words grow inside me like a weed. I let them take root and I gave them power. And I felt fear, real debilitating fear, for the first time in months. That was my August, filled with beauty, busy-ness, laughter, and creeping, creeping fear.

Meanwhile, other things happened recently to try and trip me. Two other potential triggers to depression sprouted up like companion weeds. As though they saw one weed allowed to grow, and they thought, "Oooh! Open weed season! Cowabunga! Here we come!"

I watched these things build around me. Over there, one trigger. Over here, another, and right here beside me, my fear of flight. I could see how easily they could pull me under. The conditions were all there, ripe for a perfect storm.

But as my hardest day hit on Saturday, and as I saw the storm roil and ready itself, and as I named it and called it "Perfect" and spoke of it to a friend, I realised that wasn't what it was, at all. 

A truly perfect storm is nature's anomaly. It exists in science, or—as some see it—in the hands of God. It is completely out of our control.

But this—my situation—isn't. Words and triggers and history and loss are often out of my control, but my reaction to them is not. I don't have to let the storm rise, because I don't have to give it power. I literally just have to keep moving through the water. Just keep moving. Forward and forward and forward again.

I just have to breathe and watch bees gather pollen from the peach tree. I just have to plan for a trip and let sorrow pass through me, and listen and be a friend, and love always and be kind, and walk. 

I just have to watch my boy juggle and listen as my girl has drum lessons with her dad.

I just have to hug my mother when she walks in the door.

I just have to kiss my husband and put my hand on his back.

I just have to run my workshops and watch how the kids' voices tumble over each other, so excited to share.

I just have to have a cat on my lap.

I just have to see my counsellor and have him remind me how well I am doing.

I just have to skip rocks on the water.

I just have to see my naturopath and talk through treatment and feel calm and whole and hopeful again.

I just have to keep moving. Make my way forward, with my eyes wide open, noticing and finding the joy, always.

And the waves can't help but ease. The storm can't help but settle.

It's spring here.

The blossoms and bees are out. It's a beautiful, beautiful day today.