Put The Needle On The Record

““And those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music.” ”

— Friedrich Nietzsche

Yesterday was a rather enormous day for me in terms of kicking goals and taking names, and it got to the point where if I didn't find some way of letting some of the 'YAY' feeling out, I was going to spontaneously combust. 

Sadly, as I had the equivalent of ten metric tonnes' worth of work to get through, a mid-afternoon champers was out of the picture (dammnit). So what to do, what to do? 

Hard as it is to believe, I chose to - ugh - exercise.  

Which isn't actually as weird as it sounds. 

One of the perils of both a. working from home and b. sitting in front of a very large computer screen all day is that whilst the mind is massively busy, the body is in the equivalent of a chocolate coma. So at the end of the day - fidget central. And yesterday - I really, really needed to be running down the street, punching the air, saying 'I couldah beenah contendah' with Eye of the Tiger playing loudly in the background.

Or possibly the theme from Flashdance.  

As it was, I donned the black stretchy pants and running top (no need to not be chic about this - I was celebrating after all) - and off I trotted out into the exceedingly average Gold Coast afternoon. 

God. 

I really, really hate running. 

Admittedly I have Rheumatoid Arthritis and shouldn't do anything beyond a gentle amble, but - well, if Rocky Balboa could keep going, yada, yada, yada... 

And I bet the most the Duchess of Cambridge said whilst popping out the Royal Squealer overnight was 'oh, bother'. So soldiering on, stiff upper lip trembling slightly, knees popping like corn, I ran up to the beach.

The thing that got me there (apart from excess adrenaline over total work wins), and the whole point of this post, was this. 

Music. Really, REALLY loud music.  

Much of it was totally daggy, and I think I was singing along (or wheezing along) at the traffic lights, and bouncing up and down on the balls of my feet, so no doubt I looked even more spaztacular than usual. Plus I run like a total girl, so I must have provided the locals with some serious entertainment. 

But man, it was worth it. Music may be the language of love, but more importantly yesterday, it was the language of 'I can do this without having a myocardial infarction'. 

And also the language of total, total kick-arse.  

I'm going the distance. Possibly not for speed, Cake... 

But definitely the former. 

Aah, ahhhhhhhh... 

Stand In The Place Where You Live; Now Face...

“Your feet are going to be on the ground/
Your head is there to move you around/
If wishes were trees, the trees would be falling/
Listen to reason/Season is calling”

— Stand, R.E.M.

Apart from the fact that I am in serious, SERIOUS countdown mode for a swashbuckling adventure - bikini buying traumas notwithstanding - I am actually doing some genuine contemplation on the whole 'next life scenario' schiznitz.

Well, attempting to anyway.

Visions of swimming pools and cocktails, and the two combined, keep running through my head and interrupting our regularly scheduled program.

For some reason a pirate swings in every so often too.

Where was I again?

Oh. Decisions.

Ugh.

I have been very guilty in the past - oh let's face it, I am guilty in the present - of putting off making decisions. I farnarkle about, I find other things to do, I help other people make brilliant life choices - while I procrastinate wildly and rearrange my shoes by colour and brand.

Which admittedly is important - they are shoes, people!! - but really doesn't get me anywhere near where I need to be in terms of the serious stuff.

This is changing.

I am making up my mind as to where I want to be, both physically and mentally. It has - and is - taking a lot of soul-searching, and quite a few pros and cons lists, but there is clarity coming from said note scrawling and a feeling of hopefulness and strength.

And that's where my gratitude stems from. Finally getting a bit of focus into my future.

Sometimes we need a push to make us stand on the rose of the compass and see which way the prevailing wind is blowing. Sometimes the wind is in a direction we may not have expected; sometimes the breeze may be fickle and we may need auxiliary power to supplement our sails.

But that's OK.

I always keep a set of oars about the place.

You never now when you might be becalmed.

Or conversely, need to hit marauding pirates for being naughty.

And I am back poolside.

Come On A Surfari With Me...

““We made the buttons on the screen look so good you’ll want to lick them.”
”

— Steve Jobs

Something was really brought home to me last night; it really is true what John Lennon sang in Beautiful Boy - 'life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans'.

We are often so caught up in the day to day, that we don't notice the momentous until we sit back for a breather, and realise how much things have either changed or progressed in a short period of time.

You may well ask what on earth John Lennon has got to do with a Beach Boys lyric and a Steve Jobs quote. Well, apart from the six degrees of separation issue (Ed Sullivan called The Beatles 'England's answer to The Beach Boys' and of course there was more than one Apple once upon a time) - not a hell of a lot. Aside from the fact that all of the above pieces of rubbish float around in my head where useful information could actually sit.

What Steve Jobs and surfing have to do with this post though - now there is a different story. Everything. For in their own ways they have been a part of the life that has happened to me recently, almost without any volition.                                                 

Because after a lot of what one, if one were honest with oneself, would call dithering, I have found what suits me in terms of work. How I work, what I do for work, and whom I work for. And the answers - to virtually (ha) all of those Jeopardy categories - finally come easily.

Most people can answer these 'what do I want to do when I grow up?' questions a lot earlier in life. They are extremely lucky. And they may not have had to deal with weird diseases hitting them at odd times and making them re-think their working ways.

So now I live in cyberspace to a large extent, and get to write, write, write. And then write some more. It may not be the type of surfing I envisaged as a 13 year old, but that doesn't make it any the less exciting.

And far better in the long run for my complexion. Because let's face it, my dreams of the freckles joining up to make a tan were fairly unrealistic to start with.

So today - I am grateful for the chance to weave an interweb. It turns out I am not too shabby at it. Considering my handicraft handicaps, it was a surprise to me as much as anyone.

Surf's up.

And I am very, very grateful.