3 min read

from the junk drawer of my mind

from the junk drawer of my mind

It feels like there’s been a lack of intelligent conversation around these parts for a while. Totally on my part, friends, not on yours.

I seem to spend a lot of time starting to write something, only to discover that very thing I was thinking about saying had just been said by someone else, far more eloquently than my simple offerings. It’s all been done before, seen before, written, read and photographed before.

Somebody, somewhere, is already doing it.
But that doesn’t mean that I can’t too. There’s enough room for everyone.


I’ve allowed myself to be distracted by what other people are doing. I could say this never leads to anywhere good, though it usually leads me back to myself, it’s just a roundabout path.

Franticrestful. I feel quiet.
I dig my hands in the soil and plant things. I renew my love for bicycling and waking early to go to the gym and find sanctuary on sandy beaches where the wind tangles my hair. I stop drinking alcohol for the month and do a cleanse. I feel good and my body is thankful.

I am angry at myself. For my failures and hangups.
For the lessons I am not learning ‘quick enough’ though they are currently on repeat.

I am transformed
By the return of the sun in the north. Turning my face to the warmth. Walking. Finding a state of joy through this simple activity – wrapped up warm against the chill winds. Stripped down to base layers as soon as the sun comes out.

Photos from recent trips away are being culled – scenes of my life, deleted. Their stories, the sentiment, the reason I stopped to capture that moment, not given any value.

I wonder if social media is diluting my friendships.
Friday nights used to be reserved for gathering with friends to drink, eat, ponder, talk crap into the wee small hours, crawling into bed after the sun came up. I have grown weary of checking friendface and twitter for updates from my friends; tempted to give the online world the flick, go and live my life outdoors again. Plenty of people do it and are happy. Perhaps only those friendships that remained would be worth tending. I don’t know. I desire mineral-rich friendships, wanting to distance myself from the shallows. At the same time I remain uncomfortable talking of myself. Though, often, all I want is for someone to ask me how I am, and be interested in knowing the answer. The perils of an introvert.

Standing on the cusp of change.
Wishing for the wind and waves to carry me to some secluded shore where I can build a place to call home.

There are plans for a grand adventure – holding my cards close to my chest for fear that someone might peek and tell me I’m not good enough; or some sprite will swoop, pick them up and carry them away. Wondering what the hell I’m doing signing up for something so magnificent. Walking right to the edges of my comfort zone and trying hard to stop feeling small. Remembering that everything I get is exactly what I asked for so to be mindful of what I’m asking for…

Part of me knows with absolute certainty that I know what I need better than anyone else. And that wisdom is far better than any self help book or life coach can provide. I’m not very good at listening to myself though, or applying that wisdom, in order to live my “very best life”. In the same way that I am my own best life coach, I am more often being my own worst enemy.

I am small. One tiny person.
A breath, a single heartbeat in the life of our planet. I don’t know where this road goes, I just want it to be filled with a bedrock of peace regardless of the terrain I encounter. So many more places to explore and nowhere left to go.

Dismantle | Repair
Making is a messy business. Why do I care so much about how I look?

There is nothing left to feel. There is everything left to feel.


* thanks to dev richardson for inspiring the title of this post