Lockdown

 I felt relieved when the lockdown was announced. Schools, like many other places, didn't seem safe to me. But yes, more work for me...

One way, it feels oddly familiar. We have a box with papers, pencils, pens, erasers and all the other things, we know how to link to various sites used by school, understand how to work with them. School is much more organised, ready to get going from day three of the term - having spent day one preparing for the return of children and day two figuring out how to do distance learning and who is attending...

But I am smarter, too. Noticing how well the habit of early morning practise made me feel during the Christmas period, I have decided to carry on with it. Instead of slow mornings, I try to get up before anyone else and have a practise before switching on the computer and finding the day's work. It does wonders. I feel good and I don't have a nagging thought about practise at the back of my head while dealing with other things.

Second thing, I try to listen to a relaxation track or a yoga nidra every evening before bed. It isn't a fully relaxed session, dear child decided to move husband to the child's room and sleeps permanently in my bed. At the moment, I tend to nod off before or alongside the child. Therefore my relaxing moment coincides with the last burst of energy stored specifically for bedtime. But I figured out that husband and child get used to the fact that I am unresponsive around 8 p.m. And a background noise is surely all about practise and focus improvement, isn't it?

Since I do the night snoring, kicking, toilet trips and early morning chats, husband can do the bedtime story while I listen to mine. I may be onto something, I wake up feeling more rested.

I don't do resolutions, January is fairly normal month for me. There is no need to push myself or to try and change everything. But building a habit of taking time for myself without feeling bad about it is surely a good one to choose if you wish to make a resolution? Or just go and do it, whatever time of the year it is. Without planning, this is happening. In a way it is good to be dropped into lockdown with few hours notice. It would have helped the schools to know about it sooner, but as a parent, I managed to simply apply these little steps without planning and overthinking them and being worried about not managing to keep it up. It is a day at a time mode here at home, but every day counts. As long as we stay healthy.

New Year Old Me

 Stepping into 2021 was nice for one single reason: snow. Nothing excites dear child more than seeing enough snow for sledging. It was great to finally unwrap the sledge we bought 2 years ago, after school was closed because of snow and we were hastily cutting off a bottom of a big plastic bucket, hoping it would make a sledge. It sort of almost did, but luckily one neighbour borrowed us the real thing.

Ready this year, we went out in style and enjoyed the white fresh snow. Now the child is disappointed every morning, because there is no more new snow...

Christmas was good. No pressure regarding visitors, no visits or trips, just us. Preparations were easy, husband was home, I could dedicate time to baking, decorating, wrapping, preparing. I am a loner. 2020 was easy for me. Facing its end in my little bubble was even easier.

Then the presents were unwrapped and the really good time started: the slump or hibernation, whatever you want to call it - the time between Christmas and new year, time when there is food in the house, no reason to go out except for a walk, enough toys and movies to occupy dear child. I can rest, think, plot, dream, indulge in things I usually try to fit in.

Yoga can be done in peace and quiet of the morning, while the rest of the house sleeps and I don't have to get dear child ready for school on time. Instead, I can lit a candle, be slow, relax at the end.

For few years now, I do a practise of 7 Fires. Every day the focus is on one chakra. With the specific energy in mind, I think about few little ideas - seeds, that I write down and use them as a direction for the next year. Through time, I started to research practise specific for each chakra, mudras, music, incense... This year, I spent time colouring images of each chakra. It was nice using pencils and playing with colours, something I used to do so much as a child. I took out glass paint and created candle holders with colours for each chakra. A little bit of craft and play, something that doesn't look perfect but it makes me happy. It adds colour and meaning to the little corner where I practise, a little space where I can have the best time by myself, practising. It is something that makes sense. Something that helps me, supports me, keeps me going. 2020 was different and hard, but I could practise every day. I was home, there were no holidays, no trips, no visitors. I used the time, deepened the practise, embraced the isolation. Instead of regret I was grateful. I still am. Teachers that were difficult to reach because of distance, time, or prices, moved online and things were more accessible.

Now I am back at editing, back by the desk, school - whether in person or online will start again, my time will be restricted, but it is fine. As long as we are healthy we will manage. I have my little seeds from the 7 Fires, a path to follow.

Happy 2021!

Writing

I am living in a post NaNoWriMo ecstasy. So far I managed to participate four times, every other year. I always take a year break between projects, not because I want to, but because it works out this way. Every year I feel like I don't have the time, every other year I say I will try anyway.
And once I sign up, I can't fail. My first year was when I was pregnant, it felt good and I had so much time (which I didn't know back then)! I probably assumed that after having the baby I will just publish a book, too, because being pregnant makes you believe many things..
My second year was writing with a toddler. I was keeping up well, somehow, but didn't write daily. Instead, I did bursts of writing every 2 or 3 days. At the end of the month I was taken by inspiration and I wrote a lot, even though I still had few days to go, so there was no stress. I just felt the story building and wanted to put it down. My husband was home that day, working from home, and our little one was wondering from one to the other. And when she was at my husbands's study, she stood on a stool, fell off and ended up falling on a toy she held. She cried, but children fall and cry, so I did my best to console her. And she seemed better, then she had a nap, which I spent sitting next to her, writing. I finished my project, child woke up and cried again. That wasn't like her, we decided to go to the hospital because she seemed unhappy and her hand was the issue although nothing was obviously wrong. We found out she broke a little bone in her wrist, the doctor said it is a very common injury in children. I remember feeling guilty for writing, for doing something else instead of looking after her. Then I reminded myself again and again that she could have fallen if I was cooking or cleaning, she could have fallen right next to me, she could have fallen while playing with us... The parent's guilt. They fitted her with a fancy cast, no plaster needed and she was fine in few weeks.
My third Nano was two years ago, it was a way to try to get back to myself, to what was important to me as a person, to sort out the story that started sprouting in my head. I didn't carry on working on that project, no editing, no re-writing. I was so terribly behind with everything else, I focused on my older things instead. It wasn't an easy story, or a pretty story, it was dark, but maybe not dark enough, it will need the right mindset to come to fruition.
This year, I started submitting, got many rejections, researched self publishing, looked up indie authors on twitter, saw the community that exists, that I already met during my NaNo years. I have a bunch of rejections, but I also have much clearer idea of who I am: a writer. I did NaNo to work on yet another idea that occurred. And it felt like hard work. There was so much to do: a course I am studying, editing that I didn't manage to finish, my child and my household. The fact that I must learn to be employed or self employed and do my other chores and work as well. Being a housewife is full time project, yet we are somehow conditioned to pretend it isn't a work at all. But I won't stop writing. No matter how much it takes.
November was long and hard. Everybody had a cold, child was off sick for few days, I didn't sleep as good as I would like to, the weather was bad, there were things to do... But I carried on, day after day. This year was the first time that I did write almost every day. Only on two days when I was away from home for too long to fit in any writing did I not write. And I felt awesome. The story is only a skeleton. It needs work. What changed, too, is that I humbly accept NaNo is only the beginning. I can take few days off at the start of December, but not the whole month (or few). I need to get more involved, open up to other indie writers (because I don't think I will follow the market trends in a way that attracts an agent), set up a profile or a website, get out there. Not for the money, not for the numbers of likes or followers, but simply because it is me. It is who I am. It is what works for me, what is part of me, what makes me happy. Writing. I always knew there was something about making stories that helped me get through life with all its difficulties and bad times...
So here I am. I don't manage to blog often, but I do love writing. Happy advent time everyone who loves reading so much that got him all the way down here!! Be happy when you do whatever makes sense to you and your life.

About Ageing

   I am now a woman over forty. It isn't a big deal. Turning thirty was an occasion, it was about being a grown up, fully adult. Forty? Meh. OK. No time to fuss, it's a number.

   But I do see few grey hair. And few lines. Again, not a big deal. It is to be expected. Do I do something? I stick with my face care routine, I do consider turning grey and having the lovely rich grey locks I see on some women and admire very much. I don't really care about elaborate colours and highlights, but to see an older woman with nice grey hair, good cut, face that aged naturally and never had anything done to it gets my attention. I even consider asking: how did you get there? What did you do before your hair turned all grey, what did you do about those brittle little single grey hair?

   What does bother me is facial hair. What is it? Why is it? I know it has to do with hormones and that it is normal, but please. Why? I never needed to deal with things like that, I only shaped my eyebrows. Now? I am on a lookout around the chin and under nose area all the time. And I am not enjoying it at all.

   But I can live with that. I am healthy, strong, I know what I want and like, I think this age is good. However, my GP has an urgent need to check my blood pressure, sugar and cholesterol all the time because suddenly, I am at risk. I eat the same, live the same healthy life style, but from month to month I became a liability and me not wanting to book the offered health check makes me an irresponsible person. My dentist keeps talking about receding gums, how normal part of ageing it is. My optician gave me a long speech about my eyesight getting seemingly better, as he needed to lower my lenses prescription, but he reassured me it is because my eyeballs are getting ready to collapse and require reading glasses soon. I don't see any difference but according to him it is coming. All routine appointments I used to do without thinking are becoming a minefield. Am I going to be reminded about my ageing, frail existence? Am I going to be reminded about approaching death?

   I feel better if anything, but this is getting me down. Am I living in denial, not wanting to admit that I am falling apart? Or am I right and the rest of the world didn't notice that people age at a different speed. When I was a girl, people celebrating 50 were old. Now they seem middle aged. It used to be a big thing, now it is basically late adulthood.

   What I do notice is never ending interest in knowledge, but I am more picky. I know what I want and I don't like to waste my time. Same with people. I do like them but I am not interested in spending too much time with people who don't have much in  common with me, who bore me. I don't want to sit through some occasions out of politeness or to be part of a group. When few weddings invitations landed in our mailbox this year I was very bothered. Give me a break! Surely we are over the wedding times now. I would rather walk around the world barefoot than sat at yet another wedding of people I don't know well enough to see it as a big thing. Years ago, I would love to go out, dress up, dance. Now I want to spend my time on things that truly interest me.

   Years ago, I was also much more willing to do cardio. I would go to step aerobic and other classes often. Now I am trying to build up a cardio routine, these fast paced exercises you do for a short time but often, and I can't make myself to do it regularly. I like walking, I do gardening, train with my dog, but star jumps and burpees? Gah. I know it is good for my bones and that I will have to make myself  do it but it is such a process, it wouldn't be an issue in my twenties. I like quiet. I like to explore meditation and breathing exercises, it overtook my interest in yoga. Again, to join a yoga class is such an effort. But it has to do with the fact that I am responsible for a child and my time is limited. Before, sport was about goals, about my body shape, about my achievement. Now, I want to go deeper, I don't care whether my abs are perfect. I am not getting lazy, it is just different. Good different, I hope... One thing I know is that I wouldn't go back if I could, I am glad to arrive and live in my forties.

Dear Yann and many other men....

     I wasn't outraged by the articles about a french writer who dislikes women over 50 and wouldn't date them. Good for him. It's always nice to know what you want.

    In my twenties, which is the preferred age for this particular marvel of a man and many others I used to know, lots of my single girlfriends knew what they don't want or don't like - regarding looks, jobs, attitudes, life styles, whatever girls gossip over. I did notice that not many of them were so specific at what they wanted, I even mentioned it to one and she seemed very surprised. Many girls would then go out with very unsuitable men, myself included. They didn't have the obvious quality from the no no list, but they were far from perfect.

     I used to go out with few guys older than me. I also worked for men who preferred younger women and were lucky enough to be surrounded by them - bar owners, photographers, restaurant owners... And I did hear that before. It wasn't only about looks, although looks mean a lot to a man, more than what they mean to us women, we are way more forgiving on that front I believe. I did hear some interesting theories about women getting crazy, too demanding, or simply unbearable once they reach thirty. I didn't care much about it, I didn't take it seriously even as my thirties were slowly approaching. I did think that I will simply see how I will change from one day to the next. I was lucky. I wasn't around any of those guys when I went definitely downhill on my thirtieth birthday. I was celebrating with my now husband.

     I wasn't very much offended by what I heard, but then again, we didn't get very much offended back then, I think. People seem to take things much more seriously now. Men definitely get away with less than what they used to and it is only good. I noted the remarks, remembered them, and later on realised that I don't really want to hang up with that guy any longer, and left while still young and acceptable. I didn't date so many of them, of course, but I did observe the ever changing arm candy by my boss's side I counted myself lucky.

     Only now, safely in the invisible forties, does that article link itself with my past experiences and I think that he may think he is the one in control, the one who decides, but the truth is, this isn't about women's looks at all. We reach an age when we see through all the b...s...t we are being fed, when we get bored with vain narcissistic guys, when we want more from a relationship, and see that we don't like the idea of future with this one. Sure, our bodies change, and dear men, so do yours. But we can see right through you and there comes a day when we decide not to put up with it anymore. We stop being interested in being an arm candy. We decide to be a full grown woman that we want to be, not stay on the girlfriend material side any longer.

     I remember how my last boyfriend before my husband, who was a nice man with some flows, suddenly stopped being interesting. I realised I don't want to play second fiddle to his workaholic self. I don't want to only talk about him. I don't want to wait and fit in, keeping my own needs on the side. I want to be equal. I don't need expensive presents, holidays and dinners as much as I need quiet time at home, the boring every day thing that seem to be impossible with him. I didn't leave him because I was approaching crazy age. He didn't leave me because my looks were going. I left because I wanted something that certain kind of men is incapable of giving. I left knowing I would be better on my own. These men are relatively good at hiding that thing about them, lets call it vanity, and only younger girls will fall for it. I don't know who is with my ex now, but I wouldn't be surprised if his girlfriends are of consistently similar age and looks even now, twelve years after me. If it works for him, good on him, but not so good for them.

     Also in the news this week: divorced women are having fabulous time and women who never married and never had kids are among the happiest people... Some guys will simply never understand that it isn't all about them, will they?

I Dream of Japan...

   I woke up after having another dream that involved a man I used to know. He was lovely. We met briefly in 2001 in Tokyo. He was from there but lived and worked in the US. I was from Europe but lived and worked there. I was convinced that I could not date a Japanese man. Ever. They were too strange, too intense, too different. They weren't my type. They were too short. Well, this one was tall. In my twenties, I was convinced that I had a type. I also wasn't ready to settle down, even theoretically, in my head. Most of all, I was way too involved with someone very bad and very wrong for me at that very time. I was convinced that he was the one and made any excuses for him, waited for us to be happily ever after. So some nice blokes weren't considered because I thought I have met the one. I forgot them and I forgot the bad boy. But somehow, I never forgot the Japanese one.

   The truth is, he didn't stay in Tokyo for long. We kept in touch over mails and phone. He did go back to Tokyo but I wasn't there when he was. Then, few years later, he got sent back to Japan by his company. He was a little disappointed, he did hope to stay in the US for longer, but Japanese work ethic is very strong, so he went back and carried on working. And as he settled again in his home land my time in Tokyo was up and I moved back to Europe. He was optimistic. He hoped that I would use his bonus miles and fly to holiday with him. But I was working and travelling in Europe and our schedules never allowed it. He did have some business trips to Europe, but again, nothing close enough to me. Plus, with his strict work ethic, he just wouldn't prolong his trip and take few days off for himself. I assumed that he just lived in a dream, he had an idea of what he wanted from me and believed I was it, but never really learnt who I really was. For me, I liked to be liked, and I did enjoy talking to him, but I didn't believe we had any future.

   Then I met my husband. I moved to the UK. He told me he does travel to the UK sometimes. But he also politely wished me happiness and good luck and stopped writing, because I told him I was engaged now. And as a true gentleman, he wouldn't flirt with a woman who was to marry someone else. It was a strange little story, only possible at the time and age of easy travel and internet.

   The funny thing is, I struggle to remember much about men I was with, I don't care about most of them, but I have never forgotten him. I would love to know what had happened to him, how his life went, how he is now. Not for romantic reasons, I would love to have him as a friend. And now, when husband and I went through a rough time with some arguments and fights, I keep thinking if I have made a mistake. If I should have taken the big step, give him a chance, and see what would happen. Of course, if true attraction was there, I am sure I would have go for it back then. It would be so romantic. And if we did stay together, we would have our own rough patches and difficult time and fights and I would feel lonely and isolated in Japan, a country so different and so far from what feels familiar and comfortable... It is a mind game.

   The thing is, when it comes to men and relationships, I am done. I sometimes say to dear husband that he cured me of men forever. I would rather become a crazy cat lady, if we were to part ways, than look for someone else. I don't believe that the grass is greener elsewhere, I don't believe that a perfect man exists. So, when the mood is nostalgic and I feel sad, I rather look at the past and live of my memories then to search for Mr right. And the only person that can provide any sense of illusion and wonder is surely the one that got away. I never saw his flaws, never knew his bad side, never argued with him. Who knows, he may be a truly horrible person. But when I am angry or frustrated, it is nice to mutter: oh, if only I did leave for Tokyo with a one way ticket, it would have show you! You would never have met me!!

   But, interestingly, I do dream about this Japanese man every now and then. Sometimes he is older, sometimes he is the same he was all the time ago. Usually he is quite cross with me for leaving him for other. It is all as innocent as it was back then. I enjoy my dreams about us. I also enjoy being back in Tokyo in the dreams. Does it mean something more than what it really is - my mind tiding up, which is what happens when we sleep?? Who knows. I wouldn't mention it to husband, he doesn't know about him anyway, so it is my sweet little secret. When I wake up after my Japanese dreams, I am happy, as if I have met with a very good friend. It feels like I can pack my bag and travel across the world without any worry about childcare or who will pay for it. It puts smile on my face...

Ageing, Body Image and Me

   In my early thirties I realised I no longer cared whether I was the prettiest/slimmest/tallest/best looking girl in the room. I didn't care whether I was more popular then others, more noticed, whether I was generally more popular or better at things. I would walk into a gym and not scan the room for potential rivals. I was happy in my own skin, happy with my life. And I felt relief when I realised that I don't care what other think or see because I am fine with myself as I am.

   OK, being in the modelling industry earlier didn't help to automatically scrutinise and care way too much about how I looked. Looking at the generation living mostly through their online avatars, it was way easier in the years before internet, really, and I am quietly grateful for that.

   I was lucky enough to enter the thirties in great shape and condition. Motherhood and life in general changed that a little. I changed. Not drastically, but I do look different. So that confidence I had is gone. I assumed that I will be top fit after having my baby as being a mum means having time to do some work out and look after myself, right? All I can say to my pre-baby self is: HA HA. No, not going out to work does not mean MORE time, it means no time for yourself. But I also don't fuss as much as I would years ago. Just yesterday my dentist started talking about how much progress was done in teeth straightening and how he could still help my slightly crooked tooth. What was a major interest in my twenties (when that crooked tooth lost jobs in the glory days of modelling) seemed like a very extravagant expense and, frankly, waste of time. Will it help in any other way than cosmetic? No? Than it is not needed. I would rather save three grands. I am healthy and that is all that matters.

   But as I am settling in the forties now, I feel weird. There are things that seem like betrayal from body that served me so well until now. Chin hair. Two lines between my eyebrows. A sense that the skin on my face and decollete isn't as firm as it used to be. The general feeling that nothing is as firm as it used to be. Few grey hair. It is nothing, really. I am in a good shape, I can not complain and when my GP suddenly insisted on checking my health post 40 I felt offended. There is no change to me now and last year and it seemed like a scheme to get me on the statins so the pharmaceutical industry can finally get some profit of me. I refused, I know I am not overweight, blood pressure is fine etc.

   In my twenties and thirties I always worked with what I had and assumed it will only get better. In my forties I continue to work with what I have but now I am not sure that it will get any better and it makes me feel worried. Not because of vanity but because I have to face the fact that my body will slowly age and eventually it will die and decay. We assume that it won't happen to us, don't we? We are surrounded by ageing people, by sickness and death and we know that we are mortal but there is a little corner in our head that believes we will live forever, stay young forever, keep going forever. Funny how the mind works.

   I was very arrogant when I was young. I would look at women and assume that they don't care, let themselves go, don't have good taste. It is not true. Being perfect doesn't mean perfect life. There are more important things. Once you are settled with a partner that loves you for who you are you don't think that looking great will help you, other things take priority. There is nothing wrong with our body showing what it has been through - scars, stretch marks, cellulite... Shaving off your body hair is not necessary. Seeing the real colour of your hair is interesting and it actually suits you even with few grey strands in it. Stomach without defined muscles and legs without thigh gap are beautiful. Having a healthy child and happy home, doing something you enjoy, having good friends, experience things is more important now. There is so much more to life. I wish I could have enjoyed the young stage more without constantly trying to fit some ideal. I am not even sure where the ideal came from.

   Again, starting up with modelling around sixteen didn't help. Most of us were told that we are fat, too fat the moment our booker would measure us, while our mothers and aunties and GPs were telling us to eat more. There was also a feeling that looking a certain way would bring me more attention from men and help me to find the right one. How stupid. A little Cinderella syndrome I think. In all fairy tales the beautiful princess is the centre of attention and gets her prince. Now I wonder how easy it is to exploit women, create insecurities that live in their heads, profit of them and use them. Men exploit it, women support it instead of finding sisterhood and quitting competing. I have so much to learn my daughter. I just hope that I will find the right way to show her and right words to tell her...