What it means to be brave,

“The bravest are surely those who have the clearest vision of what is before them, glory and danger alike, and yet not withstanding go out to meet it.”

As someone who has recently picked up and moved herself as far away as geographically possible on a one-way ticket down under, I’d have to say the most common and frequent word I hear these days is “brave.”

Whether it is a complete stranger curious about what bought me to Australia, or my very best friend in any one of her constant WhatsAp reminders, it always strikes a chord deep within me. “Brave.” … “You’re so brave!” … “That takes such bravery.” … I never understood the word choice, at least not in my particular context. What is so brave about wanting to do something and simply doing it? Everyone keeps asking me why I moved to Australia, or Wollongong, and no matter how many times I respond with ‘because I just wanted to!’ it doesn’t seem to get my intentions across. 

Maybe the word doesn’t sit right with me because of the way it is defined (and maybe that’s an English teacher thing): to act courageously, not deterred by fear, danger or pain. Travel doesn’t scare me. Packing my life into one single bag and flying nearly 10,000 miles away from home with no job, no house, no real contacts, no plan, it doesn’t evoke even a single ounce of fear in me. I don’t believe living out of a bag, pond-hopping, or inventing brand new lives for myself every few months or years is dangerous. There has never been anything in any of my worldly adventures which caused me pain, and if I ever started to feel that, it is literally as simple as packing up and moving on once again. None of this makes me brave, because I can’t think of a single thing that might deter me from this wandering path.

I think there may have been other things in my life I have done which I might have considered brave… I moved out when I was 18 years old, and never returned to live with or depend on my parents for longer than a handful of months between travels; even through university I made my own independent life throughout my summers, sometimes choosing to live completely alone. But I’m not sure that made me brave, maybe just more self-sufficient.

I moved home from England and quit my very first fulltime teaching job. At first glance that may make me seem weak or foolish. Maybe it does make me those things. My life there just didn’t make me happy enough, so I ended it. But even that wasn’t about being brave, it was simply about being smart and being selfish and putting my happiness and my mental well-being first.

A couple of years back, I lost someone very special to me. His mere existence had the strongest effect on me for years. Being in his presence was powerful and dangerous and magnificent; all-encompassing. And then one day, wandering through Trafalgar Square in London, England, I got the news from back home that he had suddenly passed. Those were the hardest days, the toughest months, at points & times through that first year especially, life seemed impossible. I think maybe something in there made me braver. But I’m still not really sure what…

The notion simply puzzles me. I can’t understand what makes an exciting life a brave one. Or why chasing your dreams has to be correlated with conquering fears and challenging danger. Why does living free-spiritually even require courage? And what exactly is the appropriate, gracious response when people call you that big B-word? Especially when you feel like an absolute phony for accepting it as some sort of ill-placed compliment.

And then yesterday, for the first time in my whole recollection of life, I felt the strongest surge of bravery. I felt fear, I felt danger, I felt consequence, I felt intimidation, and I felt uncertainty … but I never felt panic. And in that, in that moment yesterday, in my lack of alarm, I felt so clearly and distinctly brave. I have never felt this before, and it overtook me even more strongly than the massive wave that was roaring towards me about to break right overtop of me: the very thing that inspired this feeling.

The only way I can describe surfing is that it is a sport for the brave. As someone who was never keen on swimming, or being under the water, or large underwater mammals, I feel exceptionally brave for taking on this newest of hobbies. But again, I never went into it thinking it would make me brave! I knew I loved the lifestyle, I loved the workout of it, I loved the feel-good, easy-riding, free-spirit vibes I got from every surfer I’d met here so far. It felt natural for me, and I’ve picked it up quite impressively for a newbie!

But it wasn’t until a few lessons in, waves heaps bigger and faster, relentless, restless, that I began to realize the sheer immensity of the ocean. And yes, that sounds silly and naïve, but you don’t actually understand just how wild that water is, how completely uncontrollable and even unpredictable it can be, until you are smack-dab in the middle of it and there is nothing out there to protect you from what force it might have over you. One minute it is rolling waves, the next it is approaching its break so hard and so fast over your board and the only shot you’ve got to avoid how dangerously strong that crash can be is to paddle directly into that oncoming, surmounting, swelling wall of water. And I’ll tell you, this is no easy task. It is literally a beast; I don’t know how else to describe it.

With the perfect approaching wave, when you know you’ve no time to flip and catch its ride, you have about 3 nanoseconds to remind yourself of two things: 1) there is absolutely not a single way to avoid this. This is your exact current moment: it is coming, you cannot change or escape what is about to happen to you in the next mere seconds. It is what it is. There is nothing else to do but accept that and take what’s coming (and in this particular nanosecond, you are always anticipating the worst). And 2) take the deepest breath you have ever inhaled. And then you just let it hit you, you let it crash on over you, you let it drag you under, you let it wrestle with your body and your board and the leash connecting those two things. You take that heavy slap of water to the face, no matter how hard you try to push yourself up over the wave, you let it conquer you; you succumb to total, disillusioned, temporarily-disoriented defeat.

And then you wipe your eyes and you spit the salt and you simply continue on paddling outwards, further from the shore, deeper into the growing, growling, rumbling distant ripples, and you wait for the next round of you vs. mother nature (already knowing its outcome). You get your belly back on that board and you keep on pushing yourself out, again and again, day after day.

I reckon that is bravery. 

Far Out

Wednesday, July 23^rd  
I had just about the best possible day one can have all to themselves.

I woke up to an email from a tea company based out of Miami who found me through my instagram and asked if I would be interested in being an international representative for their detox program. They wondered if I might allow them to send me a 30-day supply to try out & possibly promote. I read free tea! I replied quickly! More on this experience to come soon.

I literally woke up feeling more energized than ever to start Day 2 of my sugar-free kick; I made a bowl of plain, organic oatmeal with a splash of unsweetened almond milk and a tsp of natural peanut butter. It was the perfect weather for a day off with no plans whatsoever. I sat outside and ate slowly and breathed deeply and let the hot winter rays settle onto my bare skin.

I spent 3 hours out there on the balcony, with lemon in my green tea, lemon in my tall glass of water, and lemon in my hair. I let easy country tunes play quietly and I buried my freckly nose in my newest favourite book: Committed. It’s just me & Liz again, my favourite gal, who has bumped herself up even higher on that list through these spot-on pages outlining the non-importance of marriage.

I’m obsessed with how she details the natural existence of commitment and dedication and fidelity and exclusivity to another human being, even in the eternal sense, without having to conform to the institution of marriage. She makes it more and more clear to me how uninterested I am in ever getting married. I realize this is only how I feel now in this current life, but I do feel it quite strongly! I think a lifelong partnership would be the dream for me. The commitment to simply be together, to spend our lives together (me and my fictional future partner, I mean), would be more than enough. That commitment, consciously devoid of official certification, would feel miraculous in its own liberation. That is what I want.

Around noon I finally shower the sweaty sun & the citrusy strands. I make open-faced tuna, celery, lemon & avocado English muffins before my quick jog to Bikram for some Power Yoga. Ahh, I’ve missed the challenge of this class!! So, so good. After class I jogged home & changed from sports bra to bikini for another attempted surf lesson! While waves & weather have prevented me the last couple of weeks, I finally got out there with Liam & sugar it felt good. The sheer, uncontrollable, unpredictable force of the ocean; the dozen different shades of blue between the clear water & the late arvo sky; the intensity of that creeping anticipation as the waves rush behind you; paddle, paddle, pop, glide. Catching my first wave on my first go will be an Aussie memory I won't soon forget. Safe to say I'm hooked!

And only one minor injury! A pretty knarly chunk out of my foot that my surf instructor noticed before I did. Round 2 tomorrow will heal it right up ;)

My evening was spent with all of my favourite female roomies, past & present, getting caught up on all things work and school and actually neither of those things, namely just Tinder & dating. Hahah the essentials. I miss em!!! But next week Uni is back in session and we’ll at least be sharing the same town again for the majority of days! A missed evening Yin was totally worth the company.

To cap this perfect day, to exhale gratitude all over the sun and the waves and my yoga mat and avocados and friendship and everything else that made today perfect, I’m sipping a glass of white and I’m smiling at all of the things this little Aussie world of mine has already brought me and shown me and made me. I am so happy here. I absolutely love it.

Project Village - A Fellow Wanderer's Newest Endeavour...

There is something infinitely special about maintaining a relationship that was sparked purely by travel. Meeting someone significant in a way that absolutely never would have happened if you hadn’t booked that flight or made that move. I still send and receive the loveliest of emails with my best Italian girlfriend. I am currently helping another best plan her travels down under, someone I only met as a result of living and working in England. Heck, I even met a great love for the first time doing tequila shots at a resort in Dominican 7 years ago! I want to take a bit of time (on this wonderfully sunny day off!) to write about another fine lady who has further proven how magical the universe can be, introducing me to these incredible, worldly, inspiring people.

It was a picture-perfect day for a catamaran around Santa Maria, Cuba. It was early beers, a lobster lunch, and being naturally drawn to the only other younger group of 20-somethings on the boat. Their names were Anna & Vicky, and we turned that little family-laden boat into a first-class party cruise. It couldn’t have been even mid-afternoon, but we had the captain cranking the music, the other passengers laughing and bobbing along, while the bar tender poured an unfair amount of tequila. We danced and laughed and fell in love with these wild Toronto-native girls. We swapped all possible contact information (right down to drunken scribbled phone numbers and email addresses), to ensure we could keep in touch to share pictures / future travel plans! We did just that, and Anna & I have since continued inspired contact via all things social media.

I am so grateful for that tropical afternoon and for crossing paths with Anna Gala, because this girl is going to majorly shift the way that fashion and philanthropy entwine to change the lives of women everywhere.

As being kind is always in style, Anna has used her years of charitable experience with TOMS Shoes and learning about giving models and the retail industry as further inspiration for her own start up company: Project Village Bracelets. I wanted to help Anna get her word out and unpack this incredible movement as I am a likewise believer that sustainable change is not achieved through mere empathy and donations, but through education and empowerment.

Project Village aims to support underprivileged women in Toronto by using the funds generated from their line of (mens and womens) bracelets. Anna writes, “Through self development, coaching, positive influences and environments we truly feel that we can break the cycle of dependence and help these women reach their personal and socioeconomic goals.” It is about breaking the assumption that only individuals in third world counties require our attention and support, as Anna calls Toronto her ‘village in need.’

Not to mention, these bracelets are gorgeous. My only reservation toward Anna and her company? … They don’t ship to Australia (yet!) – That being said! To all my friends and family back home… My birthday is coming up you know! Grab yourself a few of these beautiful things, and snag one of the Pure Karma bracelets for me (!!) :) Spread the positive vibes, help make a difference. So proud of you, Anna! And thank you for letting me be a part of this wonderful project. Xo!

https://www.facebook.com/projectvillage

https://twitter.com/pro_village

http://instagram.com/pro_village

http://www.projectvillage.ca

Sugar-free Oztag

Tuesday, July 22

Day #1 of my completely sugar-free diet! I felt fitter & tighter already, just walking home with my $50 of new groceries to restock my cupboards. Not that I ever purchased anything without be conscious that the cereal or the yogurt or whatever it was (though that’s pretty much 50% of my diet right there) was the least amount of sugar possible compared to all others on the shelf, but I had been noticing my dependency on that little something sweet, and decided to make that small change. A small change of removing one ingredient from my diet, which I very quickly realized wandering those grocery store aisles is not actually a small change at all. Everything has sugar in it! I didn’t put it in my basket unless it had less than 1 gram of sugar. I won’t even restock my fruit supply once my remaining bananas and apples are done (these are the only things I let linger! Everything else was completely cleared from my cupboards & fridge shelf). It just feels good to be conscious of a change. You can train & monitor your eating habits, but unless you have a specific goal, it is so hard to keep it all modified. I’m excited! I’ve got 20 days until I hit the beaches of Thailand, and I’m excited to see what kind of visible difference cutting out this habit makes. It is going to be tough!! I have developed such a sweet tooth since being here. But they say it only takes 21 days to break a habit. I plan to beat that goal by 1 day!

Today was also (and more importantly, haha) the first day of Equal Playing Field at Warrawong High :) It went well! I’ve got 10 year 7s, 8 year 8s – it is fantastic to be in small numbers for once. And while some of my students for sure stand out over others, it is so much more manageable than anything else I’ve ever experienced in a classroom. I taught my kids in a circle outside in the sun. I loved that. We talked about equality and respectful, strong teams. I loved that too. They had fantastic responses for how a team is like a relationship, and how we should treat others in those relationships, and they demonstrated all of this through round 1 of our Oztag tourney. I loved that most. It’ll be an awesome next couple of months.

The 10 instructors grabbed lunch on the beach afterwards (courtesy of E.P.F., which I think is heaps generous), swapping first impressions and Australian novels (my first Aussie author! Tim Winton, I’m diving into his text Dirt Music now). That great company will continue this evening with a few drinks downtown.

… Does beer have sugar in it!?...

Tuesday, July 15^th

It could have been in combination with the early evening rain, subtle, discreet, warm. It could have been Daughter’s Youth lyrics, at the exact perfect time that I came out of it and stuck my twisted eagle pose, on the first try, with deep, steady breaths, strong, sturdy one-foot balance, for a full three minutes. She was singing about letting go. I know it was the ocean harbor air, salty, crisp, surrounding me closely on three sides. The deserted dock, an empty pier, just me at the very tip of it, floating on that wooden raft, loosely anchored. The sun had set, the sky was getting darker, the old lights flicker dimly on the lighthouse to my right. It could have been all of that, mixed and swirling through my veins (I swear I felt all of that in my blood). All of that, and the true feeling of coming to peace with this, it had me buzzing even higher than usual when I dismounted from my inversion. Those familiar post-30-seconds as my vision swerves and settles, the blood descends back down into the rest of my limbs, that slight pins/needles numbness, the lightness of my shoulder and arm muscles, the tightness of my core relaxes, and thoughts begin processing normally again as the world returns right-side-up.

I think it was that exact perfect combination of those natural factors with the blood rushing back to my heart that finally brought a clarity to those thoughts: it’s time to be open and to be willing to finally move on. It is time to consider. It is time to notice. It is time to allow myself to realize something with really great potential. I owe myself that. I deserve that. I’m ready for that.

Thursday, July 17^th

I only wear three pieces of jewelry on a daily basis: my Tiffany’s ring from daddy, a simple gold necklace with a thin gold heart, wrapped thrice around my wrist, and a teeny silver hoop earring (or two) on my pinky finger. All on the left side of me, all have become so much apart of me. Whether I’m sleeping or showering or swimming in the ocean or working or lifting or standing on my head, they are apart of me.

My pinky ring has become my biggest habit, thin enough to twirl around with my left thumb, the clasps of the earring part pop open and click closed, addictively. But this current silver ring might be the 10^th or 12^th of it’s kind that has lived on my smallest finger, because those clasps never last long.

I set myself up for this loss, a dependency tracing back over a year now. I remember losing the first ring (originally my very first pair of non-stud earrings when my ears were first pierced at 11 years old). It happened at the cottage, loading up the boat at the marina, the clasp unclicked and the sharp edge of it pinched my pinky finger and I thought it was a dock spider and I squealed and flicked my wrist and it went soaring into the lake. I remember being so mad at myself! So sad to see it slowly sink away. Since then, others have been lost in Spain, at the Kitchener cafe, at Cantell Maths and Computing College, on north beach here that first Australian date night, and a small handful of other places around this planet I’ll never be able to name, simply reaching for it with my thumb one moment, and realizing it was gone.

It sounds silly, I know it does! But it is devastating every new time I notice it is missing. It’s an instinctual panic wondering when it fell off, where it could be, my thumb starts itching to twirl, I feel so naked without the tiny piece of sterling silver. But for how much anxiety those moments bring, it feels exactly equally as good when it is recovered, or when my thumb feels it throughout the day and it is still there. Maybe that even feels better than how sad I get when it's gone. It’s like 9 times out of 10 I reach for it and it’s there, and that makes me smile. Even though I know that 1/10 could hit me at any moment.

And they are stupid expensive! $28 every time I want to replace those things. I lost it again last night, distracted walking home with dinner (so distracted I actually missed my street, my nose buried in yet another all-consuming conversation running aimless circles round and round). It was there and then it wasn’t. I came to Aus with two, and the final one had disappeared. And now I don't even know if they exist here to replace. I guess that’s why this one hit harder, and I feel the familiar panic, knowing my left hand is about to feel so foreign to me for the next long while until I can adjust to it’s absence. And I kick myself for the 12^th time every time I promised to find a suitable replacement, or a jeweler to fuse these things shut.

I am walking back to work this morning, missing it, and of course, I realize how silly all of this is. This small comfort. And I notice just how much time I have spent in the last year of my life retracing my steps, staring at the ground, driving myself mad looking for this tiny piece of me. It is so silly! It is so menial (a word recently introduced to me, one that I can’t seem to shake now…). And so this post was inspired during that walk back to work, as my thumb had already moved in search for it 2 dozen times since waking this morning, and then I finally made a decision: I decided not to replenish the weird addiction. To move on from the loss, maybe even find a new ring... One with less risk, one that doesn't threaten opening and slipping off at any point in the day. Something beautiful and secure and trustworthy and reliable.

That's what I did. That's what I decided. And then 4 hours later, two hours into my work shift... I'm serving a couple out on our patio. And the sun glitters off something that catches my eye. There, just at the front door of the restaurant, caught in our Welcome mat, my teensiest silver ring lay open, bent, waiting to be found.

And the addiction starts all over again. The happiness of finding it triumphs the sorrow of moving on. It controls me.  I literally started this post as a note in my phone on the way to work, with intensions of posting about letting go (a common theme lately), without a single clue that I'd find it again, that it'd survive a whole night without me finding it, being trampled by customers for hours.

I guess I could have left it there… Ignored the glitter... Ignored the fact that it seemed to have found its way back to me this time (I was called into work last minute! This shift wasn’t originally scheduled. And ordering dinner for pick up the previous night could have been from anywhere, but it was from my own restaurant, etcetc.)…

But instead, I ignored the fact that it is still only a temporary comfort; that there is nothing realistic about it’s worth to me. And so here it is, back on my pinky finger. I’m giving it yet another chance to stick around, to be apart of me. I’m giving myself another chance to survive when it inevitably disappears again. I am letting myself enjoy the familiar, the habitual, the instinctual… Until the next scare of a loss presents.